The Sparrow's Journey
by Willofthewisp
Summary: We all know Captain Jack Sparrow plays things close to the vest, but this is the tell-all that reveals his secrets, from birth to the mysterious aftermath of AWE. Encased in action and romance, some of the story you know...but most of it you do not. J/E
1. The Birth of a Squall

**A/N: I do not own any POTC characters or plot lines and I have not read the young Jack Sparrow series that is out, so details may conflict with that.**

* * *

The last crash of lightning echoed down into the nether-regions of _The Golden Queen, _but Oria barely noticed it, the liquid from her body trickling down her legs and peppering the ground. Pressing her back into the hard bulkhead of the ship, she let herself slide down, already feeling her heartbeat outside her chest. Where was everyone? No tempest could equal the crisis going on right underneath them.

"Miss Oria? Miss Oria, you're soaked!" Mason gasped, halting right in front of her.

"Mason, you…you'll have to help…oh!" She pouted her lips, sweat dripping down her back.

"I'll go get the captain."

"He'll be at the helm," was all she could spill out of her mouth before another cramp tightened every part of her.

Mr. Mason knelt down and crawled over to the slim legs spread in front of him. His throat dry, he licked cracked lips while he rumpled her skirt up to her waist. Taking her shoulder, he helped her scoot to a dry spot on the floor, a trickling trail following her.

"Captain'll kill this freebooter when he sees me spyin' ye, Miss." He forced a smile while trying to summon up just a drop of spit in his mouth.

"Mason…" she grunted, "I, I have the Joneseys, to quote all of you." Never before had it been so hard to turn the corners of her mouth up into a smile.

"Ye won't be goin' to the Locker any time soon. I promise ye that."

XXX

Above, the ship swayed, nearly toppling into the towering waves running from the thunder. Men scattered every which way, like balls of dust being blown over the cover of a tome.

"Save the futtock shrouds!" someone screamed over the crashes of the waves.

The captain's dry hands, nicked with cuts at the knuckles, spun the helm, no expression on his face. His eyes, black as expensive licorice, squinted the salt out of them. Bad luck having a woman onboard, he thought to himself. Must be a smaller one in that belly of hers what caused this storm. He wiggled his nose and shook his head at his braids and dreadlocks blew across his face. The rain spliced away at his cheeks, cutting him with its razorblade cold.

"It's the _Dutchman _for us all!" he heard down below.

"Shut it, ye picaroons!" he bellowed down to them. "Ye sign up to be pirates and not expect to get wet?"

"Captain! Captain!" he heard behind him. The whistling wind finally took his hat and blew it back towards the voice that had dared call him a title of authority. No captain deserved the title in a tempest such as this.

"It's Miss Oria, Captain! Ye'd best come at once!"

"It'd be in the best interest of said captain, said miss, and the crew if I stayed right in this spot, Mr. Mason!" A nauseating roll almost made him lose his footing, a wave covering the deck in sea water. He thought he heard running behind him.

"Request permission to trade spots then, captain!"

Guess no one did run off behind me, the captain thought. Turning his head, he inhaled at the sight of a sticky-looking bloody substance on his first mate's shivering hands. The wee one. There could be no other explanation. Well, Captain Father would just have to guide this ship through and make it to port.

"She alive?"

"Yessir, screamin' and a'hollerin' like she should be."

"You'll have to go back down then."

"But…"

"I have every faith in your ability to catch something the size of loaf of bread, Mr. Mason. Get going!" As if his orders weren't enough, a deafening crash of lightning resounded. Maybe his senses were jumbled up at the thought of what was happening below at a time like this, but his nostrils flared at the scent of burning.

"The sail!"

The sail on the mizzen shriveled, heaps of ash pouring onto the deck. The men ran to it, climbing up with buckets of water that had previously covered the deck to put out the flames. They all froze at the blinding sparks flying out into the dark green sky. The rain put out the rest. Letting go of the helm with one hand, he reached for one of his braids and tugged. The one braid loose, he now held the Piece of Eight in his hand. Boy or unlucky girl that would have to accumulate her crew with a sword, he had planned on passing the Piece of Eight onto the bloody, squirming creature down below decks. Now…no, he thought. Don't you know who you are? This will just be another song for drunken nights at Shipwreck Cove, about his heir or heiress completely unaware of this storm heralding the birth.

"John!"

How could that be? How could he hear her from up here?

"John!"

"Tomlinson!" he shouted down to the cabin boy. "See to Mr. Mason. Do whatever he tells you." Hold together, girl, he thought, and then glanced up at his sails. You too, girl. Hold together.

XXX

Oria closed her eyes, turned her head, and vomited into the cracks of the floor. Why was this taking so long?

"You may have to push, miss," Tomlinson said, standing over her with a wet rag draped over her forehead. "Me mum's a midwife, see, and she tells the ladies to push at some points and relax at others, not that I know which points is which, miss. I's just tellin' ye what she tells me. She don't let me watch. Is the rag cool enough, miss?"

"Tomlinson." She gripped his hand. "Why don't you talk about something else, dear?"

"Oh, certainly. 'Fore I ran away, we kept some goats in our barn and raised those. Right sporting animals they are, miss, not nearly as bullying as they say. Downright gentle so long as the horns don't get ye. The nicest one was May, gave us Jonah, she did. He was a right cute kid. Came to us late at night. Ye should have heard the bleating comin' out of May, miss. Never would ye have thought such loud sounds could come from such a small little…"

"Just, just hold my hand, Tomlinson," Oria interrupted. Suddenly, she felt like someone lifted an anvil off her torso. Taking in a deep breath, her mouth twisting into a smirk at this newfound energy, she gave a push.

"Holy Virgin!" Mason screamed, jumping back. His head bobbed to and fro while he coughed. It reminded Oria of a cat struggling to rid itself of a hairball.

And then a screech.

"He's so bloody," Tomlinson gasped, bending down next to Mason.

"He?" she asked.

"Yes, miss," Mason said. "It's a boy."

A boy, she sighed, feeling the last few contractions of her labor. She let her head lean back, her eyelids heavy already. She saw the two men pick up the pink, wet creature and carry him off. Her boy would be in her arms soon enough.

"So," she heard a voice. "I steer ye to safety in the worst storm since the ancient gods ruled the seas and here you are sitting, probably poppin' candy while you're at it." But his face had a smile and his arm slid around her. She could lay her head down on his shoulder, a shoulder that smelled of the sea and was so cool from the elements, she could nearly feel her cheeks go from blood red to a tranquil pink.

"This is why the men should have the babies," she sighed. "Just think—the virile Captain John Teague waddling about his ship and spilling out a baby."

"Speaking of which, what have these nitwits done with our child?"

"Our son."

"Son?"

Almost on a cue, Mason and Tomlinson returned with a bundle tucked into Mason's arms. Oria locked eyes with the shimmering black ones peeking out of a blanket. Already black. She cocked her head in amazement. They were like two orbs of onyx stuck on his smooth pink face.

"His eyes are already brown."

"Brown? The pain of childbirth has ravaged your vision, my darling," Teague said. "Those are black if I've ever seen the color." His lips brushed her cheek. "I do love ye, ye know, more so now than ever."

"More than the day I told you we would have this?" She lifted the baby up to him.

"Ah. Well, this does rank up there. Just don't curse him with such a name as John. It does nothing for the imagination."

"Well, then you name him," she said. "You have to have some excitement after sailing through a short drizzle."

"Drizzle? Darling, you can't be serious." He could hardly suppress his grin. "Although I suppose you went through your own storm here." There was a pause. Those onyx eyes did a quick pan of the ship, mouth open in awe before it discovered its source of food for the next few months. The eyes closed, letting the mouth take over and take in some milk after a hard day's work of being born.

"Jackie."


	2. Drowning

* * *

Jackie squinted while coming back inside, his eyes adjusting from the bright sunshine to the subdued softness of the cottage. Mum left the broom resting against the front door, her signal for him that she was out. Of course when she was out, other rules were set, as if they gushed out from the broom itself. Don't tell anyone you're alone. Don't do anything to attract attention to yourself. She used such big words, he thought. Reaching into the bowl on the table, he picked up a crisp apple the size of his little fist and wedged it into his mouth. "Mela," he would have to say, if Mum was around. It was nice to not hear, "Jackie, stop walking around with food in your mouth and eat it." If he held the apple with his teeth in just the right spots, he could walk back to his room without taking a bite.

He let out a cough and caught the apple just before it hit the hard floor. He was a clever boy, he was, he thought with a smile. Wonder if he could make some extra money if he picked out two more and learned to juggle them.

The dogs ran by and Jackie dropped to all fours and crawled next to them, careful to keep his snack away from their curious snouts. Bony but hearty mutts dodged his taunting hand, giving it a lick and then narrowing their brown eyes on the fruit he held in his other one.

"Not for dogs," he said, standing up and scratching their soft spotted ears. He exited out the back way, the way that faced the sea. A cool breeze blew his hair out of his eyes, well adjusted to the bright sun. When Father came back from whatever he was doing this time, he said he'd take Jackie onto _The Golden Queen _and let him sail with him, actually find some treasure, maybe sail to Egypt and find some pharaoh's secret tomb and bring back Mum one of those shiny black cat statues with…with what were they called? Ankhs! He'd seen pictures of the elaborate sapphire necklaces those cats wore with that ankh imprinted somewhere on them. And they had jars, too, jars made of priceless materials smoother than the slippery rocks that led down to the sea.

He let his legs dangle over the side of the cliff not far from the back of the cottage. Looking down, one could see the small rowboat he and Mum used on occasion. She'd point out the fish that flopped onto the boat and timed him on how long he could stay afloat treading. Already he fancied himself stronger than most of the children around that were never allowed in the water.

The squawking gulls above him broke his train of thought. They circled this area quite frequently, snatching the fish up with hardly a splash of water.

Jackie scooted back, careful to avoid the whitewash they might leave if their bellies became too full. Suddenly, from behind, he heard a small flapping and a flash of brown streak across him. As it flew further away, he could see what it was. A small sparrow had been hopping about for seeds and took off once it sensed movement from a larger being. Jackie watched the small creature extend its wings and glide over the sea into the glistening horizon.

His arms stretched out and mimicked the sparrow, sweeping over the cliff and passing through a star-studded sky to the New World, then across another ocean to the Orient, flying over the stacked temples, down into the dark depths of the Indian jungles and back to England, only not stopping there but continuing on and on, all without ever perching anywhere due to exhausted arms or hunger.

Quickly, his arms fell back to his sides. If the other boys should see…five years was far too old to pretend to be a bird, much less a scrawny, seed-eating one. He supposed he would tell them he had been pretending to be a falcon. A vulture would surely frighten any of them that dared laugh at him.

Standing back up, he meant to turn and head back into the house. The rock he stepped on suddenly gave way, gravel plummeting to the sea below, as if the rock itself crumbled apart. Slipping, he reached for the flat ground above the rocks, only for his fingertips to brush against the blades of grass before he realized he was falling.

There was no time to scream, gasp…no time to even breathe before his stomach smacked into the water.

He blinked several times before being able to stay open. Paddling his arms, he raced up to the surface, or at least what he thought was the surface. Why couldn't he find it?

He protruded from the water long enough for his chest to heave once before he went back down. Thrashing, spun in the water, searching for any trace of sunlight cutting through to whichever level the sea held him. His head grew hot from holding his breath. The inside of his ears felt a pressure completely unknown to him before. He could barely tell if the swirls in front of him were from fish, the bodiless water, or his own imagination.

"I got you!"

The air seemed to invade his lungs, overwhelming them. His coughs spewed out salt water. A hand held the back of his head up as another wrapped around his waist.

"Jackie? Can you hear me?" His mother's wide eyes stared into him, her brown hair with golden streaks reduced to black strands that framed her paled face.

"Mum?" he coughed.

"It's all right." She swam to the dock where their rowboat swayed and hoisted him up. His body quaked at the sudden cold brought on by being wet. The dress his mother had on earlier lay next to him in a heap, waiting for its wearer to come back and remember her modesty. His mother practically straddled over him blocked the sun from pouring into him. "Can you breathe now?" Tears were in her eyes.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine now." He turned over onto his side.

"Thank God I came home just in time. I saw you fall." She burrowed her face into his soaked shirt. "You've always stayed inside with the dogs in there to protect you before."

"Seems today I didn't," he sputtered out, still feeling the salt drip down his chin. Oria didn't say a word, but carried him back up to the house, stripped off his clothes, and poured hot fresh water over his head. She took a sponge and scrubbed the crimson mark across his stomach where the water hit him.

"All too easy to see where you landed."

"If it's in the water, can it really be called landing?"

"Jackie, I swear. That mouth has to take in more air, so stop with the talking."

She nearly swaddled him in towels and dragged him to his room, a small closet-sized room at the corner of the house. The dogs followed, watching Oria pull out a fresh nightshirt from the chest and slide it over Jackie's body. They snuck in between the two of them just in time to lick the red line that ran all across the front of his waist just above his navel. Oria swatted at them until they backed away, but let them leap up onto the bed to lie at the boy's feet.

"They'll keep you good and warm."

"I'm all right, Mum. You don't need to cry." Jackie always thought his mother had a beautiful face, thick arched eyebrows just above wide brown eyes. But when she cried, it crumpled into what always looked like a rotten turnip. He sighed in response to the sigh he heard out of her, grateful it wasn't a sob.

"Don't play on the cliffs. If you want to get in the water, you will wait until I'm here and we'll walk down together," she said. "Don't you remember the rules of the broom?"

"Very well," he tried to say with the same tone he heard adults speak with when they were trying to be subtle, hoping it would make her change her mind about just how many rules of the broom there should be.

"I'm sure you are all right, but that was a cold dip for me," she said, summoning a laugh. "So you're going to stay in this warm bed with these two furry companions."

"What?"

"No arguing, Jackie." She placed her hand over his mouth when it opened back up in protest. "You can't always talk your way out of things. Well, you want a story before I bring you some coffee?"

"Yeah! But, Mum, this one has to have a bird in it."

"A bird?"

"A little one that gets to fly everywhere."

"Oh. Fine." She paused, folding her hands into her lap. "Once upon a time, there was a small young bird named Cinderella."  
"Mum!"

"Hold on. I'm just starting. She was a most beautiful bird, she was, covered in the softest feathers and warmest eyes. Everyone that saw her had to stop and say, 'Buongiorno, Cinderella. How are you today?' But little Cinderella always had to say, 'cosi e cosi' because of her stepmother and stepsisters, who were very mean to her. They made her clean up after them and made her serve prima colazione e pranzo e…" she waited for him.

"Cena," Jackie said.

"The poor overworked little bird, snatching up worm after worm to give to her greedy stepsisters! But one day, the king of all birds made a declaration that a ball was to be held that very evening…"

XXX

When Jackie opened his eyes, a few stars were already stuck in the large web that unfurled until it spanned the entire sky. It was too dark to see much else, but he spied a long mast from outside his window.

"Father," he whispered to himself. Curled up next to him, the two dogs startled at the sudden rush of motion, but stayed on the bed, their eyes narrow and unfocused. He made sure their heads laid back down before he tiptoed out of his bedroom.

"Little explorer, that one," he heard the man's voice say. It always took Jackie a second or two to recognize his father's voice.

"Little explorer that will be the death of me," Oria answered back. "Perhaps now is the time for us to go with you to the New World. The Spanish won't be a bother forever. The real place to be will be Barbados and all those islands over there."

"Dear Oria Regina, do you know how many women are in the Caribbean, much less the number of children?" Jackie watched his mother stay absolutely still, waiting for him to answer his own question. "I fortunately had enough foresight to sign up as a privateer there, didn't have to wait for some mistress to tell me to do so."

"Good. Then you will pack up your family and take us there." She folded her arms.

"I said not yet. Your English still needs a good deal of work."

"Looks to me like the English right in front of me needs a good deal of work."

Jackie didn't understand what Mum meant, but he followed her gaze to a bulge jutting out from his father's trousers.

"And you try and convince all these people here you're a lady," Father said.

"John, Jackie's five years old. It's time to see to his education. You said you'd make a sailor out of him. How is he to captain your ship if you leave him here?"

Jackie dared not move from his spot. The glow of the lamps was all the light he needed to see them and for them to _not _see him. His father stood up and backed Oria into the wall.

"I'm going to say it one more time, Oria, and you had better understand; it's too dangerous over there for a woman and a child. I'll be gone just as much as I am now if not more. Therefore, the only reasonable conclusion to draw is that now is not the time to pack up and move halfway across the world."

"You don't want us there because a family would mean no more pirating for you."

Jackie froze at the word. So did Father.

"Don't think I don't know what you really do out there," Oria hissed. "You don't think word reaches back to us about the great Captain Teague who plunders what the privateers already plundered? It's the reason I hope you stay gone and don't fall upon your knees begging for me to marry you. You won't risk your son's reputation."

John Teague gripped her wrists and held them up against the wall.

"You be careful on who you call pirate around here, woman. As for not marrying you, I can't say I'm as of yet in the mood to marry some criminal who's all too willing to rush herself back to the Church and reveal herself just so she can have a nice Catholic wedding."

"You, you cad!" She bucked and writhed, but could not free herself from his grip. "My crimes are nothing, nothing, compared to the stories surrounding you!" She stuck out her foot and dug it into his shin. Again and again, she kicked at him. "The Church would accept me in time, but there is no way they would overlook such a scoundrel, such a, a, pirate like you!"

Their bodies pressed closer, their foreheads inches from bumping into each other. Jackie had never seen them so close to each other. In an instant, they had their lips on each other, their eyes closed. Father's hands released Mum's wrist and flew down to her waist, and then lower still to her hips, holding them in place while she threw her arms around his neck.

Without breaking apart, the two repositioned themselves at the desk. He saw his mother's knees as she was lifted onto the desk, her skirts pushed up until they formed a linen cloud around her waist. He couldn't see anymore, for his father centered himself in front of her and bent just slightly. Crashing through the silence, Oria let a throaty moan escape from her, followed by a rushed, raspy kind of breathing. The same sounds were coming from his father.

Jackie tiptoed back to his room, blinking his eyes time after time. He had never seen such an act before, one that looked so painful, so angry, and yet so welcomed by the pair he had been watching. Still, mention of the New World was the first on his mind. It was a world full of sugar canes and white sand beaches. He remembered those words come out of his father the last time he had come to visit. Yes, his father had been there only once, but once was enough to take in a whole array of images to entice anyone to move out there. No wonder his mother was so anxious for them to leave England and start a new life there. The education she mentioned must be exposure to all the wild animals and native people that must be there.

He crawled back into bed and put his arms around his two dogs that had waited for him. A few of the moans and even a cry reached him, but he pushed them out of his mind. In the morning, his captain father would tell him all about where he had been and then he could ask about the exchange that went on between him and Mum.

But in the morning, there was no trace that Captain John Teague had even been there...as usual.


	3. Wobbly Legged, Rum Soaked Pirates

" Unloose the mouring line, ye worthless gits!" Teague spat to the crew. "More useless than a piece of string in prison. Jackie! Where be ye?"

"Behind the man yelling till he's blue in the face."

"Oy, boy. You try me patience." Teague stepped back and let his son approach the helm. "Easy does it. No need to really do any fancy turns until we're underway."

Goats and chickens scuttled around the deck, chased by sunburned men whose footsteps kept a steady beat when accompanied by the bleating and the fluttering. Jackie let out a laugh.

"Laughin' at the men'll only get ye a mutiny, boy."

"I'm not laughing at them. I'm laughing at the animals."

"I'll tell you now, lad. Only laugh at night when there's a bright bottle of rum in your hand. Understand?"

"Captain."

"What is it, Mr. Mason?"

"Ship is in fine shape and the sky looks a sight for sore eyes," Mason said. "Well now, Master Teague, I trust you'll be gettin' us through the hardest spots, eh?"

"Nothing will come our way I can't sail through." Jackie puffed up his chest. It was awkward enough wearing boots and a shirt too big for one's body, but he recognized the well-meaning but patronizing tone in Mr. Mason's voice.

"How old are ye now, Jackie?"

"Eleven."

"Lookin' more and more like yer father every time I see ye. 'Course that ain't often."

"That'll be all, Mr. Mason," Teague said, shooing him away. "All right. Now you can take the helm."

What little Mum knew about sailing she'd imparted to Jackie before he set off on this routine "safe" venture. She'd told him all about squalls, why sailors take warning if there is a red sky at morning, and most importantly, knots. He hadn't forgotten the look of swelled pride in his father when he took the rope thrown at him as a test and managed to tie every knot Teague ordered he make. But now that he mastered the basic skills, it was time for the real thing.

"Honduras will be quite the education for ye, boy," Teague said, patting him on the back. "Good people, good drink. And they'll appreciate what we've got in the hold, make no mistake."

"Why won't you tell me what's in the hold?"

"Can't tell ye everything at once."

The weeks went by and no man seemed at all put out for taking orders from a child. Jackie, during his free hours, climbed up into the crow's nest and sat with whichever sailor stayed up there. He sewed patches into the sails and read the charts in the captain's cabin. The sea never looked so blue, shimmering brighter than the scales of a fish…and what fish! Orange and green and all types of colors dazzled around them, followed by peaceful, speckled sea turtles. Father or Mum, he wasn't sure which, made the smartest decision of their lives in bringing him out here, although they still didn't all live together.

XXX

It was late at night and Jackie practiced with the charts strewn about his father's desk when Teague entered.

"Makin' scribbles?"

"No! Charting a course from here all the way to Florida." He made sure his own grin matched the one on his father's face.

"Good enough. Hey, not sure if you were able to tell, but we're docked."

"We're docked?" Springing up, he knocked his knee into the desk, but hardly felt it.

"Settle down, boy. You'll be mindin' the ship while a few of us go ashore."

"Why? I want to come with you."

"Glad to hear it, but let's just say I don't share the sentiment." He turned.

"Why not?"

"Jackie," Teague sighed. "Just listen to me for once. Stay on the ship. I'll tell you a thing or two when I get back. I know it's hard, but you'll just have to manage."

It was so quiet, the ship deserted save for a small boy climbing up to the top deck. He jumped at the sound of his own knife slipping out of his pocket and falling to the ground. Had everyone been around singing and working like usual, he never would have heard it in the first place. Crossing over to the crow's nest, he began the ascent.

A silent beach was not too far in front of him, its palm trees rustling lazily in the night breeze like a few drunkards wandering out of a pub. Only the soft rush of the waves could be heard. In the distance, a few specks of light formed the outline of a fort. That must be where Father and the crew were delivering their plunder, Jackie thought. It was an ingenious plan, really, stealing from the Spanish ships and selling the remainder of the goods back to the Spanish people. Of course, the trading companies got most of the profits, he knew that much, but Father was so clever. He would of course know that he could make more money selling his share for more than it was worth rather than keeping it. His licorice eyes shined at the plan. Father hadn't wanted a boy there to point out how expensive the merchandise was being sold for, that had to be it. When he came back, he would sit Jackie down and discuss all the trade secrets of being a privateer and Jackie would make excessively detailed notes.

An echo of a language that sounded so close to Italian caught his attention.

"Piratas sucios!" he kept hearing, louder and louder. Silhouettes of people emerged from the trees, running into the water and swimming for the ship.

The small flames Jackie deduced to be lamps at the fort in the distance expanded into orange flames, slithering their way up into the sky. The deep, familiar scent of the sea gave way to an overwhelming stench of smoke.

"Up the anchor! Up the anchor!" some of the men yelled, climbing their way up the ship. Jack leaned over, his knife in hand. Seeing they were the crew, he grabbed one of their arms and tugged until the man came over the rail and landed with a thud. More and more of the crew kept running across the beach, followed by other men whose shiny swords glistened in the moonlight.

"Jackie, make sail. The rest will follow!" someone shouted to him.

"Where's Father?"

"Jackie!"

"Mr. Mason!"

"Jackie, do what Cooper says! Keep to the Code!"

Before he could ask, or even think to ask, what code, he spotted his father on the beach, cutlass drawn, engaged in a rapid dance with one of the men that had been chasing them.

"Give 'em hell, Captain!"

"Show that Spaniard who's boss, Teague!"

Teague thrust his sword down into the collarbone of the Spaniard and leapt into the ocean, leaving behind a dark trail of blood on the spotless sand.

"Toss him a rope!"

A spare rope fell over the side, and Jackie saw it quickly become taut. He gripped it with two more men and hauled until he could see his father's face come up over the railing.

"T'was a close one, lads!" Teague gasped with a laugh. The men laughed while they helped him over the railing. "They'll think twice before plundering Mother England again!"

Jackie looked out. Several longboats were being pushed out into the water, full of angry men spouting "Pirata, pirata!"

"Here they come!" he cried.

Teague glanced over his shoulder and counted. Six longboats with the last man that pushed them into the water now jumping into them. All he could do was smirk.

"To the guns."

It was as if he were watching a play, Jackie thought. The men knew exactly where to go, taking heed of Father's commands to hold their fire.

"Awaiting the order, Captain," Mr. Mason said.

"Fire," Teague said.

"Fire!" Mason repeated.

Jackie covered his ears, blinded by more smoke. Wiping away at the space just in front of his face, he peered through the gray abyss. The seas lay empty.

"Heh heh heh, nicely done!" Teague shouted, clapping his hands. Although a softer sound than the weaponry fired moments ago, Jackie still shook at the sound. A few of the men picked up heavy bundles Jackie hadn't noticed before. They took them down to the hull.

"Father," he whispered.

"There he is! See, I told your mother I'd keep you out of trouble and you still got to see the action!"

"Cab, cabin?"

"That came out a little muffled, boy. What was that?"

"Cabin. Now."

Teague's hand cupped the spot where Jackie's back met his neck and led him to the captain's cabin. The charts Jackie worked on what seemed like hours ago still lay scattered, some spilled onto the floor. Teague immediately crossed to a small cupboard and opened it, revealing a tinted bottle. He took out two glasses and set them on the desk, finding a cleared spot.

"Now, boy, you won't tell dear Oria Regina Pettirosso yer old man gave you this kind of mother's milk, will ya?" he asked, pouring the liquid from the bottle into the glasses.

"What were you doing?"

"Privateering. Drink up."

Jackie took a rapid swig, the drink burning his throat.

"You fired at them. They were calling you a pirate in what sounded like Spanish."

Teague bent at the waist to close his door. Already, Jackie could imagine blood welling up in his father's eyes.

"All right, Jackie. I'll be straight with you…the things a privateer does…we're bound to be called pirates by the other side. We take what's theirs and turn it over to England, getting a cut for our hard work."

"So you're taking these bundles so England can have them?"

"Well, see, the thing is…"

"You are a pirate." Jackie shook his head. "You are. I heard Mum call you one once."

"When did you hear that?" he growled.

"You didn't know I was there, but I was, and she called you a pirate before you 'swept her off her feet.'"

Face growing red, Teague smacked him across the face. The back of Jackie's hand flew up to his cheek, his knuckles hot from the contact. Don't cry, he told himself. Don't cry.

"You'll listen well, boy. Heed what I say. Yer mother ain't no better than I. I saved yer mother when she had nothing and if it weren't for me, she wouldn't even have you, so you can't stand there, drinkin' the rum I gave you, and call me a pirate! Our booty pays for the clothes on yer back and the food yer mother puts out for ye." He paused to take a breath, nodding in support of his own words. 

"Now how does it feel, to spit out all those words and not know nothin' about anything? Callin' me a pirate."

"Then what's the Code?"

"Code?"

"Mr. Mason said we were to keep to a Code no matter if you came back or not." He could hear his own breath, his anger and the glass of rum in his hand forcing the words out of his mouth. "Seems I do know somethin' about something now, doesn't it?"

"It's a Code all men would be better off following. I plan to be the guardian of the book that holds it someday," he said, plopping into the chair next to his son. "It's about how life should be on a ship, how a captain should treat his crew. England, England has no code anymore. The more land and power she gets, the more stingy she gets. Ye see, Jackie, there were these two great men, Henry Morgan and Bartholomew Roberts, and these two forged the most practical code of conduct known to man. No military can equal it. No government can equal it.

"Lad, we're the only sailors that give all men an equal say in all affairs, where all men get an equal share in the treasure."

"Treasure?"

"Aye, my boy, treasure. Now I send part of me share to yer mother. Did ye really think that little house she keeps you safe in was bought and paid for by her day job? Ye think her makin' lace and sewin' up ladies' dresses buys much? Got to give her credit, though. That girl's come a long way since the days where I found her, scurryin' about like a rat pickin' people's pockets."

"What did you say?"

"Quite the talented pickpocket she is, picked the wrong one one day. Yessir, we was at port over there and I caught this cunning little wench tryin' to make off with me pocket watch. Had me heart in an instant."

Jackie felt like his father had whipped out his pistol and shot him right between the eyes.

"Finish off that rum, me boy. It's your water as long as you're on a ship."

XXX

Jackie sat awake, his back against the bulkhead. Only one more person was on the top deck, and that old man at the helm didn't even know anyone else existed. Yes, he thought. I'm going to do it. He sprung up and tied up the sack next to him. Sneaking out Teague's share of the stolen goods had been the easy part, much to his disbelief. Now all that remained was how to get away with it. Rolled up at his side was a chart he worked on just for fun, not knowing how important it would be later. It charted the route to get back home, just in case he couldn't stow away on a ship bound there once he hit land.

He lowered the longboat himself, his supplies resting next to him. Thank God for rum, he thought. You could sleep through a hurricane after downing a bottle, or at least fail to hear the lowering of a longboat on your own ship.

Taking the oars, he used that strength saved up from his swims and Mum timing his treading time to row to the shore. Spanish sounded enough like Italian for him to find a ship that would make port back at home. No one would notice him and he a small, measly percentage of his share could bribe any observant sailors to keep their mouths shut. Just you wait, Mum. Just you wait.

XXX

For keeps, Jackie held onto a silver coin after turning the sack over to Mum two months ago. Tiptoeing into Teague's cabin then had created a heart rate louder and quicker in Jackie's body than anything else he had known. Unable to see his father's face at the time, just a bundled up cocoon centered on the bed, he had shook while picking up the heavy sack, holding it by the bottom so the contents wouldn't cling together. Turning to go, he had spotted the bandana Teague always wore on the floor next to the bed. Tied onto it were a few beads and that coin. Laughing to himself about how ridiculous all that long black hair would look loose and tangled without a bandana brushing it all off of his face, Jackie bent down and snatched it.

Mum took the gold coins and candlesticks and gems and all the other items into town a little at a time and pawned them, appraising them at her own amount and refusing to come down any lower on the price, stating she was "a sensible, decent lady who knows when she's being cheated."

"Why can't we keep any of it? We have enough of everything now to just sit back and enjoy some of it," Jackie said, still fingering the silver coin with the cross on it in his palm. She wouldn't be taking this.

"Because the fewer possessions a man has the more hours he can sleep at night," she said, glancing over her shoulder, her brown hair falling to her mid-back. "Your father doesn't bring us these so we can just sit and admire them. We have to be a little more pragmatic than that." Jackie studied the coin, failing to make out the small lettering framing the rim. That was the downside to his plan—he could never ask Teague where such a coin had come from or what it said or what stories surrounded it, even though Teague was no fool and probably knew Jackie took it along with his share of the "booty."

The dogs had gone with them, one on each side of him, trotting along with their tongues out, eager to be in a new place with a variety of new smells. Every few feet, at least one of them would stop to claim a patch of road or grass as his own. The road dwindled, overcome with tall grass and sand, always a sign that they would reach the cottage within minutes. The blazoned sun also acted as a reminder.

Wondering if Teague had held possession of the coin for years or days, Jackie ran into his mother's outstretched arm. Her face, for all the time she spent outdoors, never really browned, but now paled. Lamplight flickered from the house, followed by a loud crash, as if the dishes from the cabinets all spilled to the floor.

"Sh," she warned, gripping his hand. The two pairs of creatures huddled over to the row of trees next to the house.

"They'll be looking for everything you brought home," Oria whispered, her grip on Jackie's shoulder clamping down on him. Staring up at her, he saw her eyes dart every which way and her lips curl into her mouth. "There's still some daylight. Stay out here."

"Mum!" He stood still when she turned, unsure if his mother was acknowledging him as an adult with an adult opinion or if she would just scold him.

"You have your knife on you?" He nodded. "Listen, Jackie. Stay here, say nothing, and don't come back in until I say."

"Who are they?"

"Pirates."

"Aw, you seriously want me to stay here when there are pirates in the house? Father…Teague is a pirate and I'm not afraid of them." He took out his knife and mimicked a graceful slash across an invisible opponent's throat. "They were all nice to me despite being thieves, most hospitable."

"Jackie. We've crossed them. Stay here." Without another word, she dusted off her dress, took a breath, and strolled to the front door, leaving Jackie and the dogs to only watch what she would do. Grunting, Jackie scurried to the side of the house where he was just tall enough to peer through the window. He kept hold of the dogs' collars, letting them sense the danger on their own. Their heads turned to scan the area, but they refrained from any barking. Jackie peeked inside.

One of the crewmen Jackie recognized from the voyage held Oria from behind, a pistol barrel lodged into her jawbone.

"Where's the boy, Miss Oria? We don't want any trouble. Just give us back the Piece of Eight and we'll leave."

"He's like his father, wild child," she groaned, straining to evade the pistol. "It's impossible to say when he'll be back. Let me go, Peter. I'll help you look for whatever you need."

Jackie swallowed, wondering why only one man invaded their house. They already outnumbered him. He must be powerfully strong, he thought, and Mum's so small.

"That's downright kind of you, Miss Oria, always willin' to oblige," Peter said, moving back into the kitchen, resuming his goal to smash every plate in the house. Oria bent down, shuffling the rug. She called into the kitchen to inform him trinkets rolled under that rug all the time, only to lift her skirts just enough to take out her own knife, strapped to her calf. Jackie knew she kept it with her all the time. She placed it behind her back and stepped into the kitchen.

"There's nothing there today. Teague's more and more a drunkard. How does he know he didn't lose it himself? It's not manly to blame one's mistakes on one's child."

"Captain Teague don't lose things, miss, least of all his Piece of Eight. Why without it…"

"…I'm quite aware of it, Peter. You don't have to tell me. Captain Teague has lost at least one thing, though."

She edged over to Peter, suddenly seeming so large and towering, looming over the man whose bicep muscles were bigger than his head. She cupped the unshaven cheek and brought him to her lips, her other arm to her side, burying the knife in the folds of her own dress. Guiding him out of the window's view, Jackie knew of only two rooms in the back of the house where they could go. One was his own room, the other…

"Hey!" he heard from behind.

It took a split second. He couldn't even hear the barking of the dogs at his sides, so stunned by what his arm knew how to do that he didn't. The burly invader stumbled back, loosening his grip on Jackie. Blood squirted from the crewman's throat, Jackie's knife protruding out of it. The dogs pranced over to the man, his gasps shallow. They sniffed at his wound Jackie made, watching the man's face go still.

Jackie felt a surging storm building up in his stomach extend up to his mouth. Bending his knees, he leaned over and vomited at the sight of the dead man right outside their window. There hadn't been any time, he told himself. His arm just did it without question, without a nudge from his brain commanding it. Screaming, Jackie leapt onto the chest of the man and pulled out his knife, driving it this time into the heart. It wasn't natural the way the man's face didn't even twitch at the attack. Yet death is the most natural thing in the world, he thought.

One of his dogs nuzzled his back, the other licking his wrist with a rough tongue. They turned back to face the window again, growling, their hairs bristling. Mum.

Jackie raced into the house, the dogs beating him to the door. He opened it and all three tumbled inside, the smell of blood lingering on them. Splatters decorated his shirt. Running past the kitchen, he knew they were not in there. He knew they weren't in his room. His vision fading in and out from the nausea, he ran into a room he only ran into when the invaders were in his nightmares.

Oria stood, back erect, buttoning the front of her dress, a complacent expression on her face. On the bed, Peter lay still, his blood speckling the twisted sheets and blankets. His trousers halfway down his leg and his shirt open, it was easy to see the slashes all over his torso.

"Don't look at that, Jackie," she ordered. "Jackie?" She leaned down and inspected the blood on his own shirt. Running back outside with him, she saw the other lifeless heap. "My goodness, we're a pair. Did he hurt you?" She waited for him to speak, but all he could was shake his head. "I'm sorry this had to happen, Jackie. A lot of people are going to tell you you were wrong and shouldn't have taken your father's share."

"But…" he argued, tears in his eyes.

"Listen to me. A lot of people will tell you that, but I know why you did. Captain John Teague has neglected us enough, and I've been foolish to think he'd change once you were old enough to go out places with him. Sending his own, his own…_furfantis_…after us like we were some Spanish sailors! Jackie, this isn't your fault. It is not your fault."

"Mum, I, I said I wasn't afraid of pirates…"

Before he could even formulate the point he was going to make, he felt the warm arms of his mother encircle him and hold him to her.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, but I expect more...I also expect Jack to pop out of a cake at my next birthday, but I'd be happy with just reviews. Hopefully you've noticed that this isn't a day-by-day bio. These are the events most influential in Jack's life. Don't worry. The older he gets, the more people you'll know! **


	4. Sins in Singapore

He couldn't take his eyes off of it, the heavy lines so well blended into his skin. It was just how he'd pictured it—that lone sparrow flying off into the sunset on the horizon over the sea. He flinched at the last puncture the artist applied.

"You cannot move like that, Mr. Sparrow," the artist chided. "It will only make it worse. Perhaps the arm was not the best place for it?"

"Who's paying for the tattoo? My memory is going rusty on me. Ease up now, mate. I'm only teasing. I'm sixteen years old today. I can handle a wee bit of pain." He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes at the last curvy wave that made up the ocean. He picked up his arm with the other hand and brought it to his lips. Gritting his teeth at the pain that would come from doing so, he planted a small kiss on the beak of that sparrow, the one that was now a part of him. After the fiasco that was living in Italy after leaving the Caribbean, they moved down here to Singapore with a small group of civilians escorted by the Navy. Working at the fort, sweating in that sweltering kitchen while the officers barked menu orders at him finally paid off.

"You love it then?" the artist asked, his palms rubbing together.

"I do indeed, my good man. Here is your fee." He dropped the coins into the man's hand and exited the tattered parlor, side-stepping a shard of glass that had fallen from the window. He still had a few coins with him and Mum would not be home from her work for another hour or two.

Singapore's air smelled of spices and polluted water, but with his sword strapped to his belt, Jack could whistle on the way back.

"You English?" he heard.

The creamy skin tone unique to the Singaporeans contrasted well with her ebony silk draped over her lithe body. A seashell strung onto a black strand of leather led down to the intriguing shadow in the space between her breasts. Jack cleared his throat before swaggering over to her, pocketing the coins. He had lived here long enough to know the Navy could not see every petty crime that occurred in their pretty little colony.

"English, Italian, Indian, mixed in with some Chinese and the rest of me is all Spanish," he said, following that leather strand down her neck.

"The eyes say Italian, yes?" she said, her fingers sliding up to his face, massaging the bone that formed his eye socket. "I get so tired of the blue-eyed English here. My name is Lawan."

"Jack."

"I saw you get a tattoo," she said. "I have one too." She took sleeve of her dress and stretched it down past her shoulder. A red and green dragon lay folded over her right shoulder, half going down her back and the other half hanging down and staring at those breasts. "I had it done on my birthday when I was little, just thirteen, maybe fourteen. I don't remember now."

"It's my birthday today, you know," he said, his eyes twinkling. He knew he didn't know anything about her beyond the name that she told him and that she had a dragon who got to see every inch of her thanks to how her tattoo artist positioned it, but the way her hair swayed down her back pleaded him to get to know her a little better. "This tattoo is all I have to show for it."

"I can fix that," Lawan said. "You just need to come with me."

He followed her up the stairs of the shack next to the tattoo parlor, lit with paper lanterns and filled with a lazy smoke that smelled sweeter than the smoke that blasted from guns, like honey and cinnamon stirred in together. The steps creaked, and her ankle cracked once on the way up, but all Jack could hear was her rambling on about how she knew lots of other girls here and they all lived together, usually welcoming in the enlisted for some Singaporean hospitality. He could guess what she meant, but until she discussed the subject of payment with him, he would just consider this a result of his smoldering good looks.

"This is my room," she said, unlocking the last room on the left. The bed was more of a mattress, purple blankets and pillows burying it. A screen in the corner held most of her clothes. She kicked off her shoes at the threshold and gestured for him to do the same. "You want to carry me over?" she asked, smiling with a slight pout. "I act like bride?" Jack picked her up and carried her back over the threshold and set her down onto the mattress, where she pulled him down to her.

Deciding to seem more experienced than he was, he gripped her wrists and pinned her down, propping her lips open with his tongue before kissing her. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, the room suddenly feeling twenty degrees hotter. Long as his fingers were, they swelled at the same rate his sex was, an effect of her purrs from under him. Maneuvering down, he reached for her earlobe and nipped at it. Her nails dug into his back.

"Jack!" she moaned at the moment when his hands slid under her silks and cupped her breasts, the size of a baby's head. His mouth twitched into a smirk. Men on ships made it sound as if women were a mystery. This didn't seem too hard.

Lawan wiggled out from under him and hopped up, throwing her dress off over her head, standing completely nude in front of him. His mouth dropped and his sex rose at the sight of her bare thighs and hips.

"Climb back down here," he growled, clearing his throat once more.

She leapt onto the mattress, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed the center of his neck, sliding up to his chin. Now unbuttoning his shirt, he could squirm out of it, revealing the two other tattoos on his back. He saw her twitch at the sight of them. Her astonishment gave him enough time to undo his trousers and kick out of them. All right, he thought, completely nude with a girl completely nude. Maybe she'll tell me what to do…

"You all set for me?" she asked, breathless.

"I could ask you the same question," he said, stalling while his hand rubbed her torso and dropped down to her sex, just to see what was there. She moaned, clawing deeper into him. Trial and error could be his best friend, he grinned, letting the rest of his fingers grope her, so warm, so welcoming of him… "I think now you're ready for me."

XXX

Jack woke with a headache, slowly realizing he'd fallen asleep with no clothes on at all. Ah yes, he remembered, Lawan the Mattress Girl. The clock hanging on the wall right across from him told him only half an hour had gone by since they'd entered together. He could go home refreshed with no one, namely Mum, the wiser.

Reaching over to rub his eyes, he felt a pressure on his wrist. Turning over onto his side, he saw a black silk scarf or skirt or something around his wrist and tied to a large stone dragon statue. When he tried to make his other arm reach over to untie himself, he found it lodged under a metal coffee table.

"Uh, oh, Lawan?"

Lawan appeared from behind her screen, dressed in red silk, her hair tied into a loose bun near the top of her head.

"Oh. Hello, Jack."

"Hello. Could you tell me what the meaning of these are?" He shook his wrists.

"Oh. I took a peek at your trousers. That should be enough to cover everything."

"Cover everything? Look, you could have just addressed the price up front. I mean…"

"Jack," Lawan said, "You would not have given me all of it. This way I got to see how much you had. Jack," she dropped down and crawled over to him. "You, you were so different than anyone else I have been with. I will tell you a secret. There is a mystery to a woman. She has to be explored, the more _interesting _parts even more so. Most men that come here…they do not want to explore. They think they know the perfect place to go and it leaves a woman wanting. You were different."

"So I was good and you still tied me up and robbed me."

"This time, yes," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "But even if you had come here with nothing, it would not have soured the experience."

"Well," Jack sighed, "if you want more, you'll definitely have to change how you thank me for visiting all the right locations."

"Perhaps you will come here again," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "In fact, I will be outside tomorrow evening if you want to come back. I know some more places to explore in you, too." Not taking her eyes off him until she reached the door, she closed it behind her on her way out.

XXX

Oria set the table without saying a word, leaving Jack to wonder if he appeared different now, and blushing at the fact that if he did, his mother was the first to notice. But Oria kept glancing over her shoulder. The intensity of the sun in the Caribbean and now in Singapore over the years streaked her once brown hair into a more golden hue, a cross between a color of a wheat field and the color of oak.

"What did you do today, Jackie?"

"Went and got me the best birthday present me money could buy," he said, showing off his tattoo. It would be all right if he failed to mention that the very same money he mentioned was now separated from him, thanks to a cunning, greedy, if not satisfied, whore. The men at the fort tomorrow at work would hear a story or two, the major players involved being Lawan's legs, breasts, and quite pert…

"You're probably wondering what your own mother has for you."

"Oh. I haven't thought about that until you mentioned it. But I don't need anything else. We go by Sparrow now, and this here should be the family crest. Next month I'll have enough to take you down and get one on your arm if you so like."

"Jackie, it becomes you, not me. Why you chose such a new last name, I'll never know…but I do have something for you," she said, taking her seat, spooning herself some rice. "After dinner."

"What makes you think you can afford it?" he teased. "All Lord Feng's ever done for you when you made one of his dresses right is give you a spank."

"Sao Feng is not the most decent employer, no," she agreed. "But he pays well for those 'dresses.'"

"He thinks he's so manly, but his clothes, Mum…If I had a job with the East India Trading Company I could sell those gowns to any English girl for two hundred pounds. It would be easy. Why, the shoes the man wears alone would cost, maybe fifty to a hundred pounds when one takes into account the time it takes to make them, the fact they're one of a kind, shipping…yep. I'd price them at seventy-five pounds just to be modest and some rich English aristocrat would just about empty his whole purse to pass them off to a wife or daughter."

"You do go on about having a merchant sailor job," Oria said, already finished with her sparse helping. She picked up her plate and beckoned for Jack to hand her his if he was done with it. One more mouthful and a swig of tea, and he picked up his plate and cup on his own. "You won't let me pamper you on your birthday?"

"No, not when you worked more hours than I did today. It's like cards. Birthdays may be kings, but the long hours are the aces."

"Charming metaphor. I wonder what else they teach you at the fort."

Apparently, they don't teach how to avoid being robbed by prostitutes all that well, he thought, but refrained. Still furious with Lawan, he considered stopping and seeing her tomorrow evening, only to hold her at the point of his sword and demand twice what she stole from him, avaricious little wench.

"Sit down, Jackie. I'm going to pretend you're a little boy for a moment." She reached into her sewing bag that she took to work with her, filled with pin cushions and measuring tape and ribbon of all colors. She pulled out a woven purse that fit in her palm, a shiny item with golden lilies and lily pads embroidered against a scarlet background. Each flower was safely held in place with heavy black embroidery outlining it. Loosening the strings at the top, she beckoned Jack to come over to her and hold out his hands.

Into his hands, Oria dumped coin after coin into his cupped hands. In between some of them, small button-sized blocks of jade fell into his hands, a few overflowed onto the uncarpeted floor.

"Mum, how did you come by all this?" he asked, sorting the coins so he could count them.

"I told you just a minute ago Sao Feng pays well," she said in one monotonous tone. "That's enough to provide you passage to England. We'll make a sailor out of you yet, Jackie." Oria bit her lip, ignoring the shaking of his head. "We're not talking about you leaving and never seeing me again. The sooner we establish the Sparrows as a decent, wage-earning family, the sooner we'll leave behind everything from the past and no pirates will be looking for us. And maybe someday you can pay for your dear old mum to come back and join you."

"You didn't have to get anything for me," he whispered.

"But what would I have done with all of it if not given it to you? Jackie, I don't want you cooking at the fort here all your life, you know that. _Silenzio, me amore. _This is your gift and I will tell you how to spend it."

"I doubt that's the definition of a gift," Jack said, finally exhaling after hearing he would soon have his own ship.

"I'm the mother. I tell you what things mean. Go back to England, Jackie. Join the East India Trading Company."

He took his mother's hand and kissed her on the forehead.

XXX

The next day, Jack left the fort early, walking down the seedier, spicier district of the colony, where the English phrases were replaced by chickens squawking and the playing of reeds on the corners. Passing people whose skin could have passed for raw meat, he spotted the taller buildings made of sturdier, darker wood. Steam billowed out from the cracks of these buildings as inside fleshy men disrobed and let thinner, younger women wash them in bubbling water.

"Password?" the pair of eyes asked him at the door.

"Empress," Jack murmured, still with a raised eyebrow when it came to the significance of that word. Singapore could not boast an empress and Sao Feng himself, for all his pretty robes and gowns, kept too many concubines to favor just one.

Inside, past the moisture-spawned toadstools and mold clinging to the walls, Jack heard shouting coming up on the entrance to Sao Feng's foyer, inaccessible unless one went through the bathhouse first.

"Thief! There is nothing that can excuse you!"

"It was not me, Sao Feng. I am not so stupid as to take from you," Oria said, unblinking. Jack stood back, not wishing to disrupt any plan she may have concocting.

"When last you were here, there was a purse sitting on this chair," Sao said, pointing to the high-backed chair off to the side. "You leave and today I find it nowhere, cannot be found. My people think too much of honor to steal from me. But a European, so spoiled and used to having more money than she needs…" he trailed off, his long fingernails scraping Oria's smooth cheeks.

"You are wrong. I will not say it again."

"Then you are worthless to me. Your talents are good, Oria Regina, but I have much more at my disposal than you may think."

"I won't demand higher pay if you let me stay on," she said, folding her arms. "I just want to earn my pay is all. It does not matter to me how you earn yours." She paused to lick her lips, as if debating what to say next. "Whether you are a emperor or a peasant makes no difference to me. I have had a pirate as a lover once."

Sao Feng began to laugh, letting his fingernails once again scrape against her face. With his other hand, he revealed strung to his neck a silver coin. Jack strained his neck to see a silver Piece of Eight dangling, resting in the center of his collar bone.

"You do not know the meaning of the word pirate," he said, shoving her to the wall. Jack gripped the handle of his sword, waiting first to see if Mum could move. She broke herself from the wall and stared Sao Feng in the eye, her hands holding each other so they would not rub her shoulder blades that Sao Feng just hurdled into the hard wooden wall.

"I'm pirate enough to know that another pirate can't trust anyone," she said.

A low whistle emitted from Sao Feng's lips. A row of men in pointed straw hats formed a line behind him, each one with a sword or dagger strapped to him. His knuckles white from the grasp he had on his own sword, Jack let go, knowing he had waited too long. A few seconds ago he could have stormed in and sliced Sao Feng the Pirate's stomach open. Spilling out the flesh and fluids would produce no overwhelming odor since outside the women hung inside-out rodents and dug their nails into bloody organs with all the comfort English women felt in kneading bread.

"Cannot trust anyone," Sao Feng mocked. "Please, Oria Regina, step forward and repeat to these men what you said."

While she stuck a reluctant foot out to take a step, Sao Feng produced a pistol from a wide pocket in his robe and fired.

Jack's loud gasp drowned out by the shot, no one heard him. Oria staggered back, clutching her chest, blood staining her tan frock. Sao Feng fired again. Her hair flying back into her face, she collapsed on the ground, her throat releasing a desperate groan. Marching over to her, Sao Feng fired from his pistol, producing complete stillness. The men behind him stayed in their positions, not moving. Speaking in his native tongue to them, Sao Feng pointed at the body on the floor and had it lifted and taken out of sight.

Shaking his head uncontrollably, Jack fell to his knees, fighting for consciousness, unable to tell if his eyes were open or closed, his vision so blurry. His head bobbed back and forth, his eyes almost rolling with it. Sticking his hand out, he braced the wall next to him, trying to focus on a small knot in the floor, but it kept moving on him, or it looked like it was moving on him. Impossible, was the only rational thought he could conjure. Impossible. Impossible.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews. You may be wondering about a few things now. Just let me assure you that everything will make sense. Please, PLEASE leave reviews. One can't learn things if one doesn't listen, and one can't listen if there is no advice...do you think Jack would get along with Michey Mouse? I should just call it a day... I do not own the POTC series.**


	5. The Seduction of Revenge

"Empress," Jack said, his eyes cold and his hand resting on his own pistol. The door opened and he stood in the bathhouse, unnoticed save for one girl maybe as much as three years younger than he was. Her hair up in loose buns, she wore a maroon sash around her petite waist. Coming up from behind her, an identical girl with long dangling black earrings and the same maroon sash stood next to her, smiling up at him.

"We saw you yesterday," the first one said. "But you did not stay."

"I like to see what I buy beforehand," he said, forcing a charming grin. The twin girls giggled.

"My name is Sukhon," the second one said. "It means pleasant scent. You want bath?"

"If you two will join me," he said. "Lovely ladies that work all day should get to spend the time in the warm water, too. What say you to that?"

Sukhon clapped her hands and removed his shoes while the other one, Suchin, crept behind him and took off his coat. Bringing it up to her nose, she breathed it in before folding it and placing it over on the side. She crossed to in front of him and pulled his shirt over his head while her sister now unfastened his belt, letting his trousers drop to the floor.

"Am I going to be the only one undressed then? I'd hate for you to ruin your clothes."

Sukhon and Suchin shared a look with each other and then bent down to undo their shoes.

"Too slow!" Jack pushed himself out of the tub, stark naked, and dove into his pile of clothes. He returned to them with his knife. Their faces paled, but their halfway shut eyes begged him to come even closer. Jack took a handful of Sichon's dress and cut a slit, slashing it right down the center. Sichon stood frozen, shivering from the shock. He followed suit with Sukhon's, enjoying the power over them so much he threw her over his shoulder and jumped back into the foamy water.

Sichon followed Jack into one of the in-ground tubs, tugging on what looked like bell pulls to release more steam. The bubbling water reached up to the girls' necks and his chest, hardly a barrier to keep them from wading over to him and snuggling into his arms.

"This is quite comfortable," Jack said. "I'm reminded of the French in their great wisdom." He turned to his left and kissed Suchin's neck up and down. "Ask me if you want to know what they call all the things I'd like to do to you." He turned over and dunked his head underwater to give Sukhon's nipple a passionate lick.

"What do they call it?" she moaned.

"It's a delightful little phrase, really…"

XXX

Truth be told, Jack's eyes felt quite heavy after his ordeal with the twin sisters, yawning every few minutes, his body mourning its spent energy. They had dried off, their hips sore from the bucking he made them resort to, complimented his skill, and ascended the rickety stairs to their quarters. Even though there had been two of them this time, Jack felt he had more control this time than he had with Lawan, purposely touching and prodding areas he had fumbled into earlier. Not that it was an unpleasant experience, bare breasts and legs pressed up against him, another girl heaving at his touch while she waited her turn for him to be inside her.

But dishonoring Sao Feng's servants was only Part One…and the fun part…of his plan.

By now, the bathhouse empties, only moonlight filled the rooms, sweeping in from the tiny windows at the top of the walls. He brought out the two bottles of rum from his coat and picked up the bottle he'd persuaded Suchin and Sukhon to open up following their tryst in the tub.

He took a breath entering the main hall, silent enough to make his footsteps earsplitting. His eyes darted from the spot on the floor where his mother fell back yesterday. Shaking his head, he walked up to the large chair, made of that grayish wood that matched the walls, matched the floor. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, he tipped the bottle over and made a golden, sweet-smelling trail from the bathhouse door to the chair, lengthening the line until all three bottles had not a drop left in them. His legs prepared for the quick turn he would have to make, tensing. Fumbling around in his other pocket for his matchbox, he at last plucked out a single match and struck it, the scratchy sound creating a small tangerine flame.

One, two, three…he flung the match onto the ground and ran through the bathhouse out the door.

Outside, he knew not to expect the whole building to succumb to a raging fire, but he looked back anyway, already smelling more smoke than before. A few people came running out of the building, screaming in their native tongue what Jack took to be "fire." Roaming over to the back side, he spent a couple of his coins on another bottle from the shop across the street and soaked outside wall with soupy rum. He lit another match and this time, the flames sprang up immediately.

"Turn around."

Sao Feng stood behind him, a sword drawn.

"So it's to be a gentlemanly duel then," Jack said, keeping an amused expression on his face. "Mustn't tell the English. They'll think they're reshaping this whole area."

Sao Feng lunged at Jack, who blocked the blow, their swords grating against each other. Jack dodged another lunge and returned one, his sword lighter each time he rose it up, focusing on severing that Piece of Eight from the man's neck.

"No! No, master!" Sao Feng stumbled backwards, out of reach of Jack's attacks. Sichon and Sukhon clung to his back and chest. "Spare that one! Do not kill him, we beg you!"

"Let go of me, servants," he ordered with a sneer. "This snake must pay."

"He is a good man!" Sukhon shrieked. "A good, good, _good_ man and we love him!"

Jack laughed, sheathing his sword but keeping one hand on his pistol just in case.

"Since you have your hands full," he said, passing by the furious pirate, still struggling to free himself of his servants' grasps. "Oh, and by the way, both of them were very good, too."

Sao Feng's eyes widened, growling beginning to block out the sounds coming from the weeping sisters.

"What pirate are you that has dishonored me so?" he coughed, the redness growing in his face stifling his ability to speak.

"Pirate? Oh no. Just a good, good man." He reeled back to evade Sao Feng's arm growing freer and freer. "Sao Feng, cruel pirate, you shall remember this day. You shall remember this day as the day you almost beat Jack Sparrow in a duel." Turning so rapidly he almost lost his footing, he ran into the night for the harbor, the purse his mother gave him tucked away in his boot. Without bothering to ask any of the men still on the dock, Jack leapt into a junk just leaving the harbor, leaving elongated ripples on the surface of the water.

XXX

Hiding down with the geese in the junk filled Jack's life with feathers and droppings. Constantly cracking his knuckles and arching his back, he found he could stay active since the crewmen seldom came down, building his upper body by lying down and lifting the full baskets as tall as he was up and down. A few various exercises kept his legs toned and strong, ready to do whatever they needed to do to barter passage to England.

At last, the rocking of the junk halted, sending him somersaulting in the middle of his exercises. Scrambling behind a few baskets, he waited for the sandaled crewmen to come down and start lifting the cargo out. White sunlight filled the ship, providing Jack no cover for sneaking out. Half tiptoeing, half running, he jumped up onto the dock and surveyed the pier; a craggy terrain leading up to the outline of a city above the cliffs.

"Been waitin' long enough."

Jack's lips dried. Squatting to the ground, he hopped back into a docked boat. Sure enough, Captain John Teague paid the Singaporean crew and gestured to some men to begin unloading the cargo. His face withered a little more from the sun and the wind, he still kept that crimson bandana with his beads on it. Teague brought his pipe to his lips and watched the younger men carry the baskets out one at a time and cage the geese.

"Singaporean geese," Teague said to them. "It'll be like you've never had a good meal before in your life."

"John Teague," Jack said, standing so straight it made his back throb.

"Captain. Captain John Teague, but who wants to…Jackie?" His eyes widened. "Uh…what, what brings you to Shipwreck Cove? Your mum ain't here, is she?"

Jack tucked his lips into his mouth at the mentioning of his mother, distracting himself by trying to pinpoint the exact location of "Shipwreck Cove."

"Answer me, boy. What are ye doin' here?"

"Mum's dead, Teague."

For all the masculine smells and crags in his face, a passerby might have laughed at the captain's hand flying up to cover his mouth. After that, his eyes shined with a glassy quality, a single tear drizzling down his cheek. With a choking sound, he somehow donned a mask over his anguished face.

"Beautiful thief," he muttered. "I suppose someone finally caught her."

"Pirate Sao Feng," Jack growled, "whose latest escapades include dishonored maids and a bathhouse burned to the ground."

A slippery smile snuck up into his face. "That's my boy. Speaking of which, you still got me coin." Teague pulled his own pistol out and pointed it at Jack's face. "I'll not mention your other offenses if ye hand it back."

"Hand what back? I take the responsibility for defending _your _lover's death and after I packed up my share of your plunder, it's hard to know what particular coin you mean. There were so many of all nationalities, a bit like people really…" Jack stopped at the pistol barrel pressed against his forehead. "What was it we were discussing?"

"That _lover _of mine you refer to was your mother and in spite of her bloody past, she was a damn good mother to you," Teague snapped. "Did ye bring back her body?"

"Bring back the…" Jack asked, his mouth drying. "Just how much time do you think I had? I just wanted the slimy bugger to suffer."

"So ye took the time to do somethin' with his maids, burn down his property, but didn't save the body of your mother?" Teague brought his pistol back down and placed it in his holster before grabbing Jack by the shoulders and driving him backward to the point that his heels were no longer on the pier. His arms outstretched to balance himself, he could not push back on Teague. "My boy, just you hang onto that Piece of Eight for me. We'll make ye worthy of it."

"Worthy of it?"

"Ye don't know what it is, do ye?" Teague laughed. "Show it to me."

"I may be your son, Teague, but it doesn't mean I'm as dumb as I look," Jack said with a straight face. "It's safe and secure."

"Well then, you just keep it safe and secure, Jackie-boy, pirate lord."

"Pi…what?" Jack managed to enclose his arms around Teague and lean forward, securing his own footing on the pier. He broke away from him and narrowed his gaze. Pirate lord? He took a coin from a pirate lord?

"Ye never learn, do ye?" Teague laughed. "You can never tell someone ye don't know something. Ye just act like ye do until it's too late and all your plans and ideas just come and give ye a slap in the face! Ye took me Piece of Eight, Jackie, and I got to say, I admire what ye did, so I'm lettin' you keep it. Ye stay here, at this fortress, we'll make a pirate lord out of you yet. Maybe in time even get a pirate king out of ye."

"That's what they are?"

"They don't have to be. But it is the official Piece of Eight. What do ye say, Jackie? Sixteen's a bright, sharp age to be livin' at Shipwreck Cove."

"I aim to join the East India Trading Company," Jack said. "Don't look so surprised, old man. It was Mum's dying wish and you flatter yourself if you think I want to be like you just because by sheer happenstance I'm your son."

"How do I take that now?" Teague loomed over him, swaggering his hips. "After that lip and stealin' me treasure five years ago, I'm beginning to think you lack the proper respect."

"Live at a place like Shipwreck Cove. You must think me an idiot," Jack snapped, the shine in his eyes gone. "Now, I mean to get passage to England and if I have to commandeer one of your fancy pirate ships to do it, then I'll do it and there won't be a damn thing you can do about it."


	6. The Pirate Hunt

**A/N: I do not own POTC, but I do own my own reviews. Thank you to all my readers! Spread the word.**

* * *

"My own ship, eh?"

"Yes, Mr. Sparrow. The Company has recognized your talents, and Lord Beckett will be here to personally congratulate you."

The words ran past Jack's ears while he and Mr. Cunningham ambled along the docks, inspecting one massive ship after the other, each one a water-damaged brown hull with a couple of sails. Even the waters rocked with a lazy pace.

"Mr. Sparrow? Are you listening?"

"Most carefully, Mr. Cunningham. I trust you are leading me to my ship?"

"That's where you're wrong," he said. "I was beginning to wonder why you hadn't taken your pick. You should be proud. Not many men as young as you receive this kind of opportunity."

Seagulls squawked, waddling next to them, taking off to the sluggish waters in search of fish. Moving past them, Jack inspected each ship, running his fingertips along the hull, contorting his head to see if the maidenheads stared back with any spirit, any fight in their faces. But their eyes, merely well-placed almond cutouts devoid of color or pupils or light, gazed past him. Well, no siren's call from any of them.

"The one next to you is a beauty, Mr. Sparrow. It's sailed from here to Madagascar at least nine times, faster then…"

The words, the flapping of the gulls—even the gruff commands of the nearby boatmen softened to the point of silence at the sight of her. A careworn black sail billowed about in the lazy wind. Following the wavy texture of the wood, he locked eyes with the bird about to take off from the maidenhead's slender hand. Wings spread, it peered into the horizon, as did the female about to send it on its way. She herself had wings, along with a triumphant archaic smile across her face. Her hair framed high cheekbones and a broad forehead.

"What's that one's name?" Jack asked, dreading the fact he would have to blink his eyes.

"That one there? That be _The Wicked Wench_, sir, one of our faster ships. Of course I couldn't tell you its origins. How she wound up here is something of a mystery."

"It's an unfortunate name."

"To each his own, Mr. Sparrow."

"You said she's fast?" He inhaled before stepping up to it, laying his hand flat on the hull, ingesting a heat only he seemed able to feel.

"As fast as she is beautiful."

"I'll take it."

"It's a deal then," Mr. Cunningham said, clapping his hands together.

"And which of our ships did Mr. Sparrow, I mean, Captain Sparrow, select?"

Jack and Mr. Cunningham turned. Walking down the dock, a man in a solid black coat came upon them, both hands behind his back. A young face, Jack raised an eyebrow at the pure white wig placed on his head.

"Ah. An unexpected pleasure. Captain Sparrow, Lord Cutler Beckett." Mr. Cunningham bowed his head at the man that stood no higher than Jack's chin.

"Captain Sparrow, we have heard so much about you," Beckett said. "Your exploits as a merchant sailor are quite well known."

"I can't imagine why." When Jack finally left Shipwreck Cove, he observed countless sailors playing this sort of game with those above them, self-important men who felt the need to make others look at him instead of the prized ships behind him. Taking one last look at _The Wench_, Jack realized he had failed to register what was said after he spoke, if anything.

"Come now. Every captain you've sailed under has mentioned you're a good man in a tight spot. Why, even I have heard of your ability to fight off the privateers and…the pirates. A fast ship like this is only too fitting for you."

Jack winced at the last sentence, not so much at the content as at the whisper of it. Beckett stood on tiptoe, extending his chin almost to the point of touching Jack. Stepping back, Jack masked his discomfort with a disarming smile.

"So glad you think so."

"Mr. Cunningham, your services are no longer required. Leave us." Beckett did not look at Mr. Cunningham, but gestured to a sharp-featured man at the end of the dock. As he approached, Jack memorized the craggy face and opaque eyes. It provided a diverting, if disturbing game, Jack thought, as to which one possessed the colder eyes.

"This is my counterpart, Mr. Mercer."

"Might I enquire as to why Mr. Cunningham had to depart but we may now…enjoy Mr. Mercer's company?"

"Never mind, Sparrow. I've said how even I have heard of your abilities. I have a special project for you."

Beckett edged over to Jack and slipped his arm around him, leading him down the rest of the dock. Jack tensed at the touch, but once more facing _The Wicked Wench_ kept him from wiggling out of it.

"Your first voyage will be to Spain."

"Spain?" Jack repeated.

"Yes. There is a particular pirate there, one whom has been a source of irritation for our Company. You look like you are about to ask what separates him from the Spanish privateers. Don't act so surprised, Captain Sparrow. I can see it in your eyes. I will hand you all we have on him, but suffice it to say that this pirate is a true pirate. Don't tell me you're the type that sympathizes with these characters, one who is seduced into thinking they're a romantic example of the past?"

"It was a pirate what killed me mum," was all he said.

"Then I do hope for my sake this is that same pirate. Have you heard the name Hector Barbossa?" He waited for Jack to shake his head. "Not much is known of him, just his current whereabouts. Find him, lock him in your brig, and bring him back to me. You're ready to take on such a mission?"

"I trust that you have something in regards to compensation for completing such a task?" Jack asked. Already counting the men on the crew he'd be given, he imagined the pirate Barbossa—dry skin and bad hair if his father was any example of a pirate. His father. He wondered if it would be worth his time and his general well-being to return to Shipwreck Cove to see if Teague knew anything about this plague on the East India Trading Company. Better do it on your own, he decided. Teague might tell you everything about Barbossa…and then shoot you right between the eyes.

"A vast reward," Beckett whispered, still inches away from Jack. "Of course, you will have your crew and all the necessary provisions before you depart."

XXX

Bill Turner finished tying off the longboat, the rest of the men staying on the anchored _Wench_. His pale, calloused hands dusted a few drops of seawater on his trousers before running to catch up with Jack, clad now in a thick, cuffed coat—one of Beckett's many ideas of what "provisions" were. With bandanas wrapped around their foreheads, their eyes adjusted without a problem to the warm Spanish sun, a cheerful change from dreary England.

"Makes one wish said individual still lived in the New World," Jack mumbled to Bill, knocking his boot against a post to shake off the salt. "Fairer sun and fairer water out in the Caribbean."

"I believe that," Bill said. "Just what is the crime of Hector Barbossa?"

"Pissing off Lord Beckett one too many times, apparently. I didn't want to talk to the man any longer than I needed to."

"Something of a…" Bill trailed off, wobbling his hand from side to side. "Can't say it'd surprise me any."

"There's something bitter inside short men."

"I'm in firm agreement. Where do we start, Captain?"

"In town," Jack said. "You know the type. He'll be in one of the cantinas, probably a Spanish wench on each arm. Put that away, man." He crossed in front of Bill to block anyone from seeing the pistol encased in Bill's strong grip. "The name of this game is inconspicuousness."

Out in the plaza of the seaport village, several ladies paced themselves around the stone fountain. With their thick parasols and lacy skirts, they resembled a multi-colored row of pansies spaced evenly in a flowerbox.

"Two hundred pounds, at least five hundred pounds…" Jack muttered.

"What are you doing?"

"Appraisals, Mr. Turner. Surely as a fellow merchant you know the price of all the fashions." Jack made sure to sound extra pompous. No, he didn't fancy women's clothing and he would gladly whap Bill on the head with the butt of his pistol if such an accusation surfaced, but it did seem unfair that society assumed all bright and expensive clothes should belong to the ladies while this coat was the nicest thing he'd had in his life. "We'll check this one."

Castanets and the tinkling strums of guitars greeted them after they pulled the heavy oak doors open into the cantina. Only a few rays of sunshine seeped into the dim room, circular tables filling up the space. Women in far less garb than the ones outside sashayed past them, their eyelids showing off an unnatural sky blue color.

"And I suppose we don't just shout out 'Barbossa,' do we?" Bill asked with a half-smile on his face.

"We mingle. Come. What do ye want to drink?" Jack said, gesturing for them to walk up to the bar. _"Dos sangrias, por favor."_

"Wise choice, my friend," the bartender said with a smile, pouring the sticky, scarlet liquid into clay goblets. "You will enjoy immensely."

"There is no lack of hospitality, I see," Jack said. "And no lack of villains, I'd wager."

"Well, _senor," _the bartender coughed, "I serve those who pay. Beggar or baron means little if the man has the coins."

"Well said. But I'm sure there are some that give you trouble."

"Only that one over there."

Jack and Bill followed the pointing finger to a dark corner of the cantina. An oily-haired man with the most enormous hat Jack had ever seen bumped his goblet up to the one belonging to another member in his party. A hearty chuckle emitted from his mouth.

"Is that…" Bill then clamped his mouth shut. "So he gives ye trouble, that one?"

"_Si, amigo._ He pays, but in English money. My suspicion is he is a privateer."

"That it?" Jack asked.

"No, no, no. He's robbed me before, taken a complete day and night's earnings and no one will help me be rid of him." The bartender shuttered, grimacing at the man, now biting into a crunchy green apple, its juices dripping out from the corners of his mouth down into his frizzy beard. "That Barbossa, my friends…it is my bad luck he comes here."

"Follow my lead," Jack whispered to Bill. They both stood at the same time and swaggered over to the table where Barbossa sat, examining the five cards he held in his dirty hands. Five men and three women on the younger one's arms sat around the table, guffawing with all the tact and sincerity of a hyena. Not bothering to wait for any cue, Jack burst into his own laughter.

"Well said! Well said!" Jack laughed. "Barkeep, another round for everyone here! What do we have here, a game of poque?"

"If ye be wantin' to join in, we best be seein' some contribution on the table," Barbossa said through a tight grin.

Bill loosened the strings on his purse and set down a stack of solid gold coins. He let out a small snicker at the stunned reaction of the players and their lovers, watching the events through drunken, half-lidded eyes. "Ye need more or have we proved our worth?"

"Proved it indeed," Barbossa answered, gesturing for them to sit. "Take a seat, gentlemen."

Jack and Bill grabbed wooden chairs from the empty table next to the busy one and picked up the cards dealt to them. They exchanged a glance before making eye contact with Barbossa's jagged fingernails tapping the remainder of the card deck. Each of them deposited their ante, either failing to hear the other men speak or one hundred percent correct in their thoughts that perhaps all of Barbossa's associates adopted the deaf and dumb persona.

"What kind of work are ye in, sir?" Bill asked, reorganizing his cards.

"Imports."

"Fascinating," Jack said, calling the last man's amount. "Do you wage war against the exporters?"

"Heh heh," Barbossa snorted. "And you two gentlemen, seein' as I'm but a local and not a traveler, am at a loss as to who ye are and what the two of ye do."

"Merchants," Bill said.

"Merchants then?"

"Yes," Jack answered. "Our captain gave us a few days of shore leave. Why, with all those diamonds we're lugging around, I'd say we've earned it, wouldn't you, William?"

"Absolutely, we do."

"Diamonds?" Barbossa repeated. "Am I hearin' ye right?"

"Oh, I had no idea what I was thinking," Jack said once his turn came up again. "I really have no knack for this game. I fold."

"Yer transporting diamonds?"

"Yes, quite boring. Mr. Turner, it's your turn."

"Fold too, I guess. Jack, let's go on back to the ship. I don't like the idea of leaving all those gems alone. Captain's a right stupid fool, drinkin' himself to sleep and sending anyone with a scrap of brain off to do, well, this, I suppose."

Jack tightened his lips and forced an enthusiastic nod to keep from laughing. Not since he'd accepted Mr. Turner as a first mate had he heard him say so much at one time. He knew the man had a bit of pirate in him to lie with such ease. It was a downright shame this wasn't all happening back in England so Alice Turner and the little one…what was his name? Bill talked about his son all the time and yet…

"Well, we lost," Jack said, blinking his eyes to force himself into the here and now. "Gentlemen, if we're ever in Spain again, it'd be a pleasure to lose to you once more." He and Bill stood at the same time, bowing to the men, none of whom returned the courtesy.

They squinted at the brilliant sunshine poking at their eyes upon coming outside. Each one glanced behind them with every couple of paces, prepared to catch a glimpse of that hat with that plume stalking them. _The Wench_ waited for them, the sun pouring onto her ebony sails, some already with gray patches sewn into them. The corners of Jack's mouth could not resist turning up at the sight of her.

"Slow down. I'm sure he's behind us."

"Captain," Bill said, "Once he's aboard, how will we keep him from shooting anyone?"

"Dear Mr. Turner, our pirate will do precisely this: he will walk down into the hull and proceed to open every empty crate we have down there. We shut him in, wait until he spends his bullets, and then can waltz in, numerous in number, and restrain him further by tossing him into the brig."

"Nothin' like throwing them in the brig until he's sober," Bill chuckled, humming a few more bars of song about a drunken sailor and what should be done about him. "Captain."

Jack shifted to the side and let his peripheral vision take over. In the distance, Barbossa crept behind them, a stocky hand tight on his pistol. Jack grinned.

He and Bill waited, whistling and making small talk. Barbossa scanned the horizon, keeping close to the foliage beside the dock. When he failed to take his eyes off _The Wench, _Jack grimaced. All those stories about defending one's lady by slapping the blackguard's cheek with a white glove suddenly heightened his heartbeat.

"O teach me how I should forget to think," he whispered.

"Jack?"

"Shakespeare, Bill. Looks like our friend may be after more than just the diamonds."

Bill turned. Barbossa took his eyes off the ship just in time to see the action. Cocking his pistol, he fired a shot that passed right between them.

* * *

**A/N: Jack quotes Shakespeare here, a line from Romeo and Juliet. It's a cliffhanger, so stay tuned! Please leave reviews.**


	7. A Lion Among Ladies

Jack and Bill dodged the bullet. They both rolled down onto the dock, almost into the water. Pistols drawn, they raced towards Barbossa.

"Jack! Jack! He's heading towards the church!"

The tunnel vision emerging from out of Jack's brain prevented him from answering Bill's huffing exclamations. Before him, a white cathedral stood out from the square clay buildings. Willing his legs to lengthen their stride, Jack sprinted to the towering doors with knockers heavier than most doors by themselves.

Inside, he heard a scream, and then silence. The shadows from the pews provided ample places to hide…and here was old Jack standing out in the open, he thought. Scrambling backwards to slam his back against the wall, he tripped, but caught himself.

"Sir, sir," he heard from under the nearest pew. Peering underneath it, he found a young woman huddled. "He is behind the baptismal."

Straight ahead of him, down the aisle, he saw the baptismal, a wide wooden affair so elaborate it would be easy for a monstrous man with a large hat to hide behind it. He nodded to the woman and squatted down. Hands shaking, he pulled out his sword without a sound and pushed it to her. Her startled cherry eyes gathered the sword to her chest faster than her hands did. Crawling over to the side, he maneuvered past the rays of light shining through the stained-glass windows, making his way to the front of the church. Sensing a presence behind him, he twisted his neck to spy the woman following him.

"Stay back!" he hissed at her, almost dropping his pistol as he gestured for her to go back.

"No, he has a pistol!" she whispered back.

"Enough of this," Jack muttered to himself and aimed his pistol right at the edge of the baptismal. His shot lined up, he fired.

Another shot answered his.

"Give it up, Barbossa! You won't be touching my ship, save for maybe the brig!"

"I take what I please!" Barbossa's head poked out from behind the baptismal, lurching back at the sound of another shot firing from Jack's pistol.

The woman crawled under the pew, dragging Jack's sword with her. She stopped at the other side of the pew. Another move and she would be out in the aisle. Squinting, Jack thought for sure he could see her knuckles transform from red to white gripping the sword. She looked back at him and nodded her head, her thick black curls falling into her face.

Staring back at the baptismal, Jack saw what she meant—Barbossa clambering from his hiding spot to the large chair, if not throne, where the priest would sit when the choir…it had been too long since Jack had been to mass. Sorry, Mum, he thought, closing his eyes and then snapping them open again. Where the bloody hell was Bill?

Without warning, the woman sprang up, screaming and running towards Barbossa, the sword positioned tightly in both her hands. Jack fired without thinking, part of him knowing a pirate would shoot her without a second thought. His mind finally snapping back into the present, he saw Barbossa bend down to pick up his pistol, shot from out of his own hand.

"Stand back! Stand back!" the woman shrieked, her lip trembling. Her eyes darted to Jack for less than a second before locking back onto Barbossa. Barbossa held up his hands, palms out, and took a few steps backward, a resigned expression on his face. Arching his back, he then leapt forward.

"Don't do it, mate," Jack said, close enough now to point his pistol right into Barbossa's temple. "You'll be goin' back to England now, rotting away in a jail cell."

"Don't see how things could get much worse," Barbossa said, a quiet hate building up in his cheeks and his nostrils.

"Well, it might. See, there are no diamonds. Oh, and if you look at _my _ship that way again, I might just be tempted to use this tiny thing here and tell the East India Trading Company I found ye dead, courtesy of one of your mute acquaintances."

XXX

"I must say, Miss Valladares, you never thought a sword would match those dainty gloves of yours," Jack said, laughing at the sight of him escorting a well-born Spanish lady home.

"Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; and vice sometimes by action dignified," Trinidad Valladares quoted, blushing. "I think you have bravery confused with simply surviving."

"Funny how those two often coincide." They stopped in front of a massive tan house with what looked like red bamboo chutes bundled together to form a roof. The lush trees and shrubs gracing the property overlapped a long courtyard, the lone sound apart from the chirps of the birds was the gushing of a fountain behind the house. The flag displayed over the veranda matched Trinidad's canary skirt. Jack pulled up his coat by the lapels, covering his tattered shirt and vest underneath it.

"You must come in now that it is dark," Trinidad said. "My uncle will be away, but there is plenty to eat and there are many rooms for you to stay the night."

"It's very kind, but I do have my ship to get back to and, well, I trust my first mate, but there is a violent pirate in the brig there, and, not that Bill is a right simpleton, but…" he trailed off, already up the 

front steps to the veranda, watching Trinidad turn her key into the lock. "They wouldn't leave without me, but knowing the circumstances…"

"I insist you stay, Jack," she said. "Had no one followed that pirate inside, I might have died."

"Were you at Confession, by chance?" He liked the blush that came over her, already giving him his answer. At her nod, he said, "What would a sweet Spanish lady like yourself have done that warrants a Confession?"

"That is hardly for you to know." She threw her coat over a chair.

"It just doesn't seem to match the woman I was walking with who, after all she's endured, still gave everything in her purse to a bum…despite a certain captain's warnings against the action. Perhaps being too generous, too charitable, too much of a lady simply now qualifies as a sin…"

"I am quite generous, Captain Sparrow," she said without inflection. "But, as you've said, there is such a thing as being too generous. Now, promise me you will eat something and we will go back to calling you Jack. I quite like the name." She broke a loaf of bread from the box in a kitchen larger than Jack's own cabin and handed him a piece. He bit into it, trying to figure out what a refined woman meant by "too generous."

"That's better, isn't it, Jack?" she asked.

"Being called Jack is nice, I'll agree. So, if I may ask, how does one spend one's weekends when said person is not bandaging the sick or bundling up gift baskets?"

Trinidad sat at the harpsichord bench, her hands forming talons upon touching the yellowed keys. She struck one note, but hesitated, biting her lip. She motioned for Jack to sit in one of the chairs close to her. Her Crucifix toppled out of her neckline while she bent over the instrument. Gulping, she faced him. It was such a surreal moment, Jack thought, seeing Trinidad face him, stand up so smoothly, walk over to him, and plant her lips onto his. It was as brief a moment as her long lashes shutting and opening.

"My weekends are spent being too generous with myself, sir," she said. "Forgive me. I'll show you to your room now."

Even with only the moonlight and a candle flicker or two, there was enough light for anyone to see Trinidad Valladares' cheeks flush.

XXX

The warmth from nuzzling his face against a woman's neck and loose hair provided Jack a new sensation he found most pleasant. Her eyes had stayed open during most of the night, just listening to Jack at some points and then watch him listening to her for the rest. But now with them closed, he could turn more onto his side and curl into her, his arms tightening around her waist. Awake for what he hoped would not be a long time, he scanned her room—the creamy vanity, the beige and scarlet curtains, separating from the massive window due to a cool gust of wind.

"If I were to ask you what you were thinking, would it wake my servants?"

Jack turned back to her deep-set eyes, puffing only a fraction from being closed for so long.

"You didn't care if they heard anything before."

"That was when I was awake enough to prevent anything." She brushed her cheek up along his chest up to his neck, moving his hair out of the way. "What do you think Mr. Turner has decided to do about Barbossa?"

"He hasn't decided anything. Bill only makes a decision when he needs to, not that he doesn't have a mind of his own or that his decisions are poor, but he has his orders. Ah," he sighed. "You know the first time I did this, the wench robbed me."

"Really?"

"Yep. It's nice to be the poorer of the two for once, unless you have some urges I have yet to discover. 'If love be rough with you, be rough with love; prick love for pricking, and you beat love down,' eh?"

"Don't speak of love, Jack. You know what this is." Trinidad removed the sea of sheets around her and sat up, her breasts bare and her collarbone sporting a suggestive blotch, at which Jack could not resist gaping. "Admiring your work?" she asked, stretching her arms above her head. About to push off of the bed, Jack tugged on her hair and gathered her back into him. "At least my uncle will not be returning today. It would have been most amusing for him to chase you out of our house."

"Oh yes, amusing is the word I would use for it as well," Jack said. "So, you really wish me to not mention love?" He kissed her jaw. "There is a first time for everything, I suppose, but it does tend to make one rethink his ability to pleasure women as it were. Had you been, well, every other one I've been with, you'd be telling me you loved me to the point where I'd tire of it. We could pretend for a while, eh? No comparing you to a soft light from yonder window breaking and all of that?"

"If I'm to be pledged to a stranger, I would at least like to have my adventures while I still can," she snapped, clamping her eyes shut.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

"No. You tell me." He twisted his upper body so he it hovered over hers. "I heard the word adventure and it can't end there. It just can't."

"Jack," she sighed. "I will be given away to a rich, ill-traveled nobleman and I will go from living in this house to living in one just like it. Perhaps the 'generosity' I bestow is my way of having adventures before that happens."

"Trini, look at me. You held a pirate at the point of a sword. I don't pretend to know what it must be like to be a lady, but no one deserves an ill-traveled nobleman, to be sure." Failing to cause a laugh emit from her, he tried again. "Come with me. Yes, you can come with me. You wouldn't have to do a thing. I don't expect a sailor out of ye, much less a girl what can even swim, but I'd teach you. And if you didn't want to do that, I'd drop ye off anywhere in the world, anywhere. Name the place."

"Run away and start a new life," she whispered, half to him, half to herself. "Doing what?"

"Whatever you would want. It's an exciting time to be alive, Trini, especially out on the sea, doing whatever you want to do. _The Wench _could use a mum, a girl what cared for her the way I care for her."

"Is that the kind of girl you want to settle down with?"

"I never said settle down. You're stalling so you don't have to answer."

"No, this intrigues me," Trinidad said. "We've already established you want a girl that can sail. What else? You wanted me to speak of love and now I am."

"_No para discussion_!" he mock-yelled, digging under the sheets for his shirt.

"You know what I think," she taunted. "I think a virgin for Captain Jack Sparrow. Have you ever been with a virgin?"

"My dear, the definition of a virgin would make the answer to that question a most unquestionable no."

"Captain Jack Sparrow breaking a virgin, what an image. Mind you, if you're gentle, she'll love you forever. It is a painful, scarring experience for a woman, and she would insist upon the fact she would have your eternal love and open affection from that time onward."

"Coming with me or not?" Jack pushed his leg through his trousers, tightening his belt before practically spinning in a circle in search of his boots. "I'm serious."

"So am I. Forget about me and find another young woman who has been untouched. There are plenty."

"I know you're afraid," Jack said, bending over her, his hands on her wrists. "But I'd take care of you until you were settled. It's a big world, Trini, bigger than you know it to be, new worlds all over the place. Someone would take care of you after me. You're unhappy here? Then come with me. It's a beautiful ship, most beautiful thing in the world. You deserve to ride in it."

"Jack," she said with a sharpness that had been entirely absent for all their conversation and other activities that previous night. "I did not ask you to rescue me. Here." She left the bed and pulled a lace scarf out of one of her vanity drawers. "If you are ever in Spain again, you will come see me, rich and respected with a passel of children."

"And happy?"

"Deliriously." She kissed him, guiding his hands up to her cheeks for them to cup, forcing his mouth open with her tongue. It was not until she broke away from him that he felt the silky lace wrapped around his wrist. "When you are in Spain again, you can bring that back to me. Now," she said, patting his shoulders, "You should be getting back to your ship."

XXX

Covering one of his eyes with his hand, Jack descended the steps to the brig, careful to not allow any drop of sweat to trickle onto his lace. If Trinidad was so certain she would be happy when he next saw her, then he would have to return her gift unsoiled and as pristine as it was when it lay in her drawer with any number of identical siblings. Going from the bright outdoors down into the dark hull, the covered eye adjusted easily to the transition.

"Well, Hector Barbossa, it appears you _almost _escaped the clutches of Captain Jack…" His foot caught on the last step, but he caught himself, his taunting tone replaced with a relieved smile. "Rum?" He crossed to the bars and clanged an empty bottle against them.

"Thinkin' yer quite clever, ain't ya?" Barbossa said, rolling his eyes. "I'll be out, and you'll be the one to do it."

Unable to deliver a crushing response, Jack loosed a hardy laugh.

"You laugh, but I know a budding pirate when I see one. Yer weak, though, soft, but with a little bit of tweaking, ye could maybe make yourself worthy of this vessel."

Jack turned and went back up the stairs. One of his sailors handed him a butter-colored envelope, causing all of Barbossa's taunts to evaporate out of his head. He knew it was from Trinidad before he even opened it, but strained his eyes to make out her curvy, elongated writing.

_Jack,_

_This is where you can reach me should you long to keep in touch. I will not be going with you, as you may have determined, but I have written another letter to Lord Cutler Beckett detailing just how you apprehended Barbossa, making mention of the insignificant life you saved. One can only hope it does wonders for your career and your status and you will be able to come and go from Spain as you please, capturing more "privateers." Just do not forget me.

* * *

_

**A/N: Trinidad is named after a wonderful character in James Michner's epic Texas. Her nickname is, of course, a homage to the best yellow Power Ranger ever. She and Jack quote lines from Romeo and Juliet in this chapter. I do not own POTC. **

**I want to encourage everyone to read "Nights in the Bayou" by Maidenfairhair. She has another take on Jack's past that is quite fascinating. She ships me and I ship her. Cheers!**


	8. The Brand

"I can't do this, Bill."

"Jack," Bill said, taking a hard swig of rum, "truth be told, I can't do it either."

They paused their discussion at the sound of moans resonating throughout the ship. Below decks, they all crammed together, splattering vomit onto each other. Heaving coughs and anguished sobs permeated throughout the _Wench_, and it would only be a day's journey to deliver them to Mr. Mercer.

"What do you plan to do?" Bill asked.

Jack licked his lips, staring out of his cabin towards the endless sea, a cool breeze wafting over the waves.

"That's the Caribbean Sea, Bill, most beautiful sea there is. I used to live here, ye know. Each little island is different from all the others…if one were to go to one of the more remote ones, I doubt anyone could find them, even if they cared to look."

"Does any island in particular do that better than the others?" Bill raised an eyebrow, a clear smirk coming over his face.

"Mr. Turner, assemble everyone on deck." Jack ran out of his cabin and hoisted himself up onto the _Wench's _rail, clinging to the ropes. Koehler and the rest were scrubbing the deck, Mr. Pintel and Mr. Ragetti mending the sails, Yorkin seeing to the charts. They might all push me overboard, he thought, growing lightheaded. This wasn't what real captains did, about to spout things about honor and decency in front of ill-bred deckhands.

"Listen, all of you! Listen! You all know you're no longer the only ones the _Wicked Wench _carries anymore. If you've heard the same sounds I have, you know they're not the same as the bags of spices and all that other stuff is we take from one port to the other. We're not turning them over to the East India Trading Company."

He paused, letting the wave of gasps and whispers pass before continuing. He kept one hand on his hat, that one symbol of authority, however fragile, he had over each one of these dirty men.

"We're releasing them on an island of my choosing, so they can be free. Close your eyes and pretend you're in their place, your freedom taken out from under you. If you don't wish to be part of this plan, ye can come to the cabin and talk about it with me directly. Any of ye rickety swine got something to say?" His eyes widened at the silence answering him. "Mr. Turner!"

"Aye, Captain?"

"Hoist the colors!" Lowering his tone, he whispered to him, "T'will probably be the last time we can fly those colors."

"We'll be caught?"

"You can change your mind, toss me overboard if ye think…"

"…Or I can be a pirate with one of the best men I know."

Not answering Bill, Jack went below decks, his Piece of Eight growing heavier and heavier. Sorry, Mum, he thought. If Teague knew what all was about to happen…

"Captain, message for ye. Forgot to give it to ye when we last stopped."

"Thank you, Mr. Ragetti," Jack said, taking the letter from him. He unfolded it, a grainy parchment that differed too much from Trinidad's last correspondence.

_Jackie,_

_Made it to Singapore, still looking for your mum. Hang onto that Piece of Eight when you go back to the Caribbean. Now that I ain't lord over it, someone else should be…_

Jack crumpled the note before tearing it into shreds. If anyone was lord over the Caribbean, it was Beckett, what with his slaves and spices and ships. He heard the native tongue of the captives echo, until a seductive hiss of English sent a shiver down the back of his neck.

"You're a good man, Jack Sparrow."

"How do you know English?" Her mocha skin glistened, blending into black lips that curled into a knowing grin. Her short sentence sounded no different than if any middle class English woman spoke it. She swaggered over to him, gazing through his eyes, perhaps through decades into the future.

"If it comfort you, I kin speak like da people already workin' where you're takin' us." Jack winced at the drastic switch to a Caribbean accent.

"You're going to be free, work for yourself."

"And who do ya work fer, Jack?"

XXX

Tied to the splintery chair, Jack kept his eyes focused on the two figures entering Beckett's office, shadowed by the poor lighting from the fireplace. Ropes were even worse than chains, Jack thought. Ropes don't have locks you can pick. His body contorted, striving to make itself leaner and straighter to sink through the braided ropes and crawl behind the lavish sofas on the emerald and amethyst carpet to the open window. A couple of gulls perched on the window, clucking one after the other.

"Ah, an audience," Beckett sighed, leaning over Jack, sneering. "I suppose you'll tell me you have no idea why you're here."

"Look, mate, let's do away with the formalities and the always itchy ropes and sit down to tea and scones like men."

"You'll want to cooperate with me, Jack." Jack lurched back, too close to those eyes, more like holes. They had no life in them, just a dull blue framing an opaque pupil. "A power follows me wherever I go, you see, a crushing power." He straightened his cuff link.

"That would explain why you're so short." The hard punch in the eye was worth such a remark, Jack thought, fighting to open his eye after Mr. Mercer decked him in the face. The bone under his eye throbbed, fighting to rip out of his skin and run away.

"Did that 'urt?" the Cockney brute asked.

"Well, yes."

"Jack," Beckett snapped. "We're both men as you said. Do let us act like men." Beckett squatted on the floor, his face inches away from Jack's. "I can make this all go away. I'll even overlook this little…lapse in judgment if you will just do one thing for me." His speech slowed as it went on, and Jack saw even with one good eye how intently he was being watched. "Just tell me where you abandoned my cargo."

Jack licked his lips, wishing his tongue could reach up and soothe his aching eye.

"People ain't cargo."

"Mr. Mercer."

This time, the blow knocked over the chair, sending Jack toppling with it. The side of his arm hit the green and purple Persian carpet. Arching his back, he tried to slither far enough away to come up with a plan.

"Not so fast 'ere, mate." Mercer grabbed him by the collar. "It's time we 'had some fun." Jerking him over, Mercer pummeled into him. Jack's heart skipped a beat at the sound of a crunch when he felt his nose hit. Think, Jack, think. You can come up with something.

"I think that's enough for the time being," Beckett said, gesturing for the chair to be lifted back into its upright position. "We have sleeker, more elegant weapons that can be employed for questions." His eyes drifted to the fireplace, but Jack couldn't see past Mercer's disappointed face. "Using only our brawn makes us no different than the animals, does it? Now, Jack, one last chance. Tell me where these 'people' are now, and we won't trouble you with anything again. You can go back to _The Wicked Wench_, continue your work. Your crew won't even remember your oversight."

"Well, mate, I think you talked me into it."

"You're ready to talk?"

"Aye, that I am. A man knows when he's been beaten down, or beaten up, or both in this case, and in which I tip my metaphoric hat to your very good animal here." He bowed his head in Mercer's direction. "You just send me back out with me _Wench _and I'll round every last child up for you. Why, I'll even use me own salary to compensate for the expenses."

"Do you think me stupid, Jack? I know exactly what would happen if I sent you out alone on your ship. I'd never see you again. You'd wipe yourself clean off this earth and here I would be left slighted and in quite an unpleasant mood. Treat me as an equal in terms of intelligence, Jack. I do so hope one day you'll consider me a peer." Beckett whispered in his ear, almost brushing his lips against his lobe.

"Think of it this way," Jack said, clearing his throat, thankful his earlobe had managed to elude the strangest kiss of its life. "I come alone, the very person who has their trust, and they'll comply. I come accompanied with every ship this blasted company has to offer and then whose suspicions are aroused? You send me, you get me and all your 'cargo' in a steadfast and sure manner."

"All right."

"That's good reasoning! You won't be disappointed. Just give me my ship and I can be on my way now."

"Not so fast; you're not even untied."

"So I'm reminded."

"Mr. Mercer?"

Mercer stood by the fireplace, poking the crackling fire with a long brass poker. Bringing it with him when he walked back over to them, Jack spotted an emblazed "P" on the tip.

"I had no idea your name was Paul Mercer. Smart name. I got a nephew named Paul."

"I don't think ye do," Mercer said and handed the poker to Beckett. Never avoiding eye contact with him, Mercer squatted down and held Jack's arm palm-side up, the side with less skin than the top, the side not as exposed to the sun and the elements as the other side was. Beckett inspected the poker and then lodged it into Jack's arm.

A long hiss echoed throughout the office, followed by a whimper meant to stifle a howling scream. His eyes welled with tears, gushing out down his cheeks. Nothing, nothing, required such willpower to ignore. Hell, his eye felt normal compared to the searing letter being branded onto his skin.

"When you're right, you're right, Jack," Beckett said, lifting the poker up and off of him. "I will send you alone to claim what belongs to me until they reach the slaveholders, but seeing as I will send out an alarm to keep a weather eye out for the pirate Jack Sparrow and since you will have the brand and the description, you'll be brought back. The King's navy will apprehend you and bring you back along with every last 'child' and then I shall have my cargo and my traitor."

Jack said nothing, still unable to face what would be on his arm now. He could smell his own flesh smoking.

"Oh, and if you think your beloved ship will protect you, word will spread through the Caribbean about The _Wicked Wench _and the dangerous man who throws himself at her helm." Beckett smirked, waiting for Jack to respond. "Don't believe me? I take silence to mean the same as compliance." He then rammed the poker back into the same spot as before, fringing off the remaining flesh the first assault failed to take. Without any warning, it was impossible to avoid screaming. "I suppose you believe me well enough."

Beckett returned the poker to the fireplace and poured himself some brandy. "You may untie him now, Mr. Mercer. Captain Sparrow knows what his next assignment is."

The sawing of the ropes made Jack's wrists feel release before they were even completely free. He rolled them around, standing to his feet. A pirate now, his fingertips reached his brand. There was no promise that even if he stepped outside, he would make it to his ship…yes, there was.

"I believe it would be most wise and generous of you if you supplied me with some extra provisions."

"Pardon me?"

"Oh, not that it's absolutely necessary," Jack said, ambling about the office, sitting on the desk to examine what he determined to be a rhinoceros horn. _Rinoceronte_, he thought out of habit. "It's just that as a newly appointed pirate, I possess no existing knowledge of how to outmaneuver all the Royal Navy's ships."

"Being a pirate is no different from being a merchant sailor," Beckett scoffed. "In fact, I should think it would be less difficult seeing as there are no rules to follow."

No, Jack thought, just a Code.

"Well then," he said, "I shall defend _The Wench _to the best of my ability and when it's claimed by another ship of pirates or blown to pieces by the Navy, I'll go to my grave consoled by the fact I've only committed one act of piracy in my short life."

"Fine," Beckett growled. "What is it you want?"

"Glad you asked." Jack sprang up from the desk. "I want to go down to the jail and pick up a first mate."

"William Turner is your first mate."

"And a fine, noble young man he may be, but he does lack that pirate quality, doesn't he?"

"So, if my understanding is correct, you want to recruit an experienced pirate to serve under you? Forgive me, Jack, but it sounds incredibly stupid to me, although I am considering agreeing to such a proposal just to see what the outcome may be." He repositioned his arms behind his back, staring at the back wall behind Jack. "Very well. You and your crew will outnumber any sea rat foolish enough to follow you. Just remember what you have set out to do. Is that clear?"

"Painfully," Jack said, wrapping his brand with Trinidad's lace.

XXX

The jail reeked of stale hay and piss, enough to make Jack's eyes water. Dust parted like the Red Sea for his boots, but he didn't notice, unbuttoning his pocket and fingering the Piece of Eight. The cross on the side seemed to melt into Teague's jeering face, nodding in both approval and disapproval at the life-changing event that had just went on in that office. Well, Jack shook his head, it would never happen again. This would be the last Beckett would ever see of Jack Sparrow. No! No, he corrected himself. Captain Jack Sparrow.

"Ye be the cur that brought me here?"

"Hector Barbossa, do I have a proposition for you."

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Looks like what Barbossa predicted came to pass. What now? Leave reviews to find out!**


	9. That Sinking Feeling

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! But I crave more.**

* * *

Bill's eyes sunk at the mention of Barbossa.

"You do as you see best, Jack." He sat at the table in the galley of the _Wench_, still anchored and empty save for the captain and the mate.

"Now, mate, let me tell you why I made the decision I did, has nothing to do with your skill."

"It's not necessary," Bill said, holding up his hands. "You can't very well promise a pirate much less than first mate. We can consider ourselves lucky you didn't promise him the captain's position."

"Tis a position, not a bargaining chip," Jack agreed. "But I'd still like ye to be second mate."

"In the world of piracy, that could very well happen, you and he both taken out by some stroke of fate," Bill said, stroking his chin. "You need to keep an eye on this one, Jack. He's not a pirate for the same reason we all are. We all stood behind what ye did. This Barbossa, do we even know his story? Did ye talk to him at all?"

"Well, no, but it just so happens that he has a nifty little coin what resembles one of me own." Jack unclipped his Piece of Eight and set it down on the table, waiting for a reaction. Bill leaned his head forward and focused on the silvery piece on the black table.

"God's nightgown," he murmured.

"He can get us out of so many problems, Bill, you wait and see. It's like ye yourself said: we're all brand new pirates, knowin' nothing of the world. Well, I might have a few connections, but this man has been in the business for years and years. Why, one could call it the second oldest profession, piracy. With him a member of our crew, we'd be the most feared pirates this side of England, a true ship of buccaneers, the likes of which you've only read about until now. What say you to all that? Now, I know ye said you'd go back to Alice and what's his name…"

"How can you get the kid's name wrong after all this time? It's the same as mine. One thing's for sure, Jack, and that's that this Barbossa won't be monitorin' your drink intake like I do. Seems you've already hit the bottle pretty hard."

"William! See? I know what it is," Jack said. "Alice and William will miss having the great Bill Turner by their side, to be sure, but you're too involved now, mate. Make no mistake."

When the footsteps pacing on the deck came into earshot of the two, they hushed. Outside, Barbossa strolled the deck, his hand lazily draped over the rail, a slight limp shortening his stride. Jack and Bill watched him from the galley, their eyes following his route. The wind-blown, pocked face boasted more than just the beady eyes taking in the sight of the _Wench. _Somewhere underneath that massive, plumed hat slept well-oiled gears just waiting to be awakened.

"Mr. Barbossa," Jack called, stepping out. "If you'll meet me in my cabin, I'd like the first mate to know the exact course we will take."

"Somethin's tellin' me ye have no intention of goin' back for yer 'cargo,' Barbossa said. "So what be the captain's course?"

Jack unrolled the chart over the desk in his cabin, his face still. Barbossa peered at the contents. Along the Spanish territory of Mexico, an inked-in arrow pointed to a crude scribble of a chest on top of a small island off the coast of the chili pepper-shaped mass where it began to curve back up again. Barbossa squinted in order to make out the scratchy print next to it.

"Isla de Muerta," he breathed. "So, ye have an idea, do ye?"

"I'm quite offended you thought I didn't," Jack scoffed. "I don't know about you, but I rather like acquiring funds."

"Just…what do ye know about Isla de Muerta?" Barbossa asked, almost purring.

"Aztec treasure, mate, treasure enough to supply each man with their heart's desire and then some." It was an introduction Jack had been practicing for a while, and to say it in front of this pirate was too delicious to bypass.

"Aye, and ye don't fancy any of your East India Trading Company friends will follow ye?"

"Well, if they do…" he whispered. Barbossa nodded, a small heckle escaping from him.

XXX

The winds gushed over the solid black sails of the _Wicked Wench_, wailing like a banshee down a cobwebbed staircase. Jack wiped the cold rain drizzled down his face away from his eyes, picturing the warm glow of ancient treasure being hauled up into the hull of his ship with the sun shining overhead. Lightning flashed in front of him, followed by a roar of thunder, _tuono_, he remembered. A rose by any other name, he thought.

"Steady, boys!" he shouted down to the crew. "Tis but a sprinkling!"

Glancing up, he saw the clouds whirling by, shoved into each other by the unrelenting wind.

"Take heed, Jack. That's Charybdis up there, so help me!" Bill raced up to the deck, pointing to a shadow not far in front of them. Jack's mouth fell open at the sight of the maelstrom in front of them.

"Hard to starboard!" Barbossa shouted up to him, running up the steps, his eyes wild.

"I be belaying that, sir!" Jack yelled back. "We'll not be wanting to make any sudden moves." Taking his own advice, he let the wheel slowly turn on its own, catching it little by little, guiding it away from the maelstrom.

"We can still avoid it, Captain, provided we get away from its path now," Barbossa argued, edging closer to the helm. Even shouting, his voice could still barely be heard over the raging storm. "You'll have to turn faster than that!"

"Who's captain of this ship?" Jack thundered back. "Mr. Turner…" he trailed off, not sure just what he wanted from Bill.

"Captain's never steered us wrong before!" Bill answered, clinging to the railing of the ships, his feet almost slipping off the top stair that led to the helm.

"No, he just turned the lot of ye into pirates is all! Hard to starboard, Jack!"

Jack closed his eyes and snapped them back open. His arms strained at keeping the helm from spinning out of control. The ship made a slow, wide turn, still fringing on the opening of the maelstrom in front of them. Would be easier if Beckett had just followed and ordered us sunk, Jack thought. At least that would be a better story.

Sea water slammed onto the deck, knocking a few figures off their feet. Jack kept the same rhythm, blocking out all the cacophonous sounds surrounding him, blocking out even the icy water filling his boots. He wasn't sure if he heard someone state the obvious fact they were taking on too much water or if he just imagined it, but the chilly water rose up to his calves, the _Wench _finally gliding away from the overpowering whirlpool in front of them.

"Keep it up, Captain!" Bill called from the bottom stair, wading through the water to recover some of the men. Had it been lighter, Jack might have seen the arms and legs tumble around while the sea carried them off, but all he noticed was that considerably fewer men stood on deck than before.

"Now ye happy?" Barbossa blustered. "Lost half your crew and takin' on water!"

The _Wicked Wench _now a safe distance away from the maelstrom and distancing herself even more, she couldn't stop the water from rising up to the men's waists. Jack tightened his grip on the helm, ordering Barbossa to go down and see to the matter. So close to Isla de Muerta, Jack kept saying to himself. So close.

So many bodies floated in the water around him, and if nothing changed, his would join them, once again experiencing the mysterious swirls that came with being underwater for too long. But no arms would wrap him up and propel him to the surface or carry him into a warm house. No, even surrounded by panicked men, he was alone.

Next to the ship, the sea bubbled, churning like a boiling pot. The remaining men abandoned their work to take in the sight.

"Back to work! Get your arses back at once!" Jack ordered, but they didn't seem to hear him. Water rose up to their shoulders, but what lay under the water now held their undivided attention. A nauseating plunging sound echoed, followed by a ship clawing out of the water, so vertical it could have taken in a gasp of air. It looked to be made of bones and sea urchins, fused together in a hard, textured mess.

"We're done for," one of the men said.

"We're neither dead nor dyin' yet," Barbossa whispered to Jack and to Bill, who had just rejoined them, his mouth a trembling oval. "The _Dutchman _has no business here but to collect those already gone."

"So all the stories are true," Jack said.

"But seeing is believing as they say," someone said behind him. The three men turned around almost at the same time. A billowing array of green tentacles met their eyes. Above, just under a tri-cornered hat, a pair of human eyes narrowed at them. Shadowed by tentacles, water, and a large, obstructing lobster claw, it was impossible to tell where the creature's cartilage ended and its clothing began. Only a simple brown pipe in one of the tentacles brought about any sense of the familiar.

"Do ye men fear death?" Davy Jones asked, giggling to himself.

"Seeing as we're not dying, we're not at liberty to say," Jack said, taking a step forward. "Maybe you could point us in the direction of a nearby port, one that has a nice inn with a few pubs."

"Ye be the men on this sinking ship," Jones snorted. "I will bide my time unless any of ye say now yer willing to give me one hundred years at sea to avoid such a destiny."

"Tempt not a desperate man," Jack quoted. "Fly hence, and leave me; think upon these gone."

"Ye won't be shellin' out that drabble to me, sir!" Jones screamed, nearly body slamming Jack with how close he was. "Who do ye think ye are?"

Taking a breath, Jack tried to think. At last, he took off his hat and made an elaborate bow.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, not quite at your service."

The water long ago submerged the rest of the ship. Soon it would come up even higher and he, Bill, and Barbossa would most definitely be shanghaied into the _Dutchman's _crew. If Jack had bowed any lower, his face would have tasted the salt of the ocean.

"You're a little too far from land to be a sparrow," Jones mocked. "Perhaps you haven't yet learned to fly?"

"Now, Captain Jones, I might have yet to learn a thing or two about being a captain," Jack began, "but I know when one is being cheated such as you."

"Enough stalling! Agree to serve or die, simple as that."

"Ah, so then we agree simplicity is the best way to go, but I'm one to argue that simplicity mixed with quantity is a most irresistible marriage." The squid-man blinked, at least intrigued by what would be said next. "I have a measly crew, I'll be the first to admit. Not twenty men, I'd wager. Oh it's enough to man this ship, but it's not enough to really satisfy me, savvy?"

"I'd get to the point, Captain Sparrow. Time is of the essence," Jones said, noting the ever-rising water. Barbossa and Bill remained quiet, Bill quaking at the speaking figure in front of them who seemed latched onto the water, unable to be tossed by it.

"All I'm requesting is that ye spare me ship, resurrect it, if you will, and give me some time to establish myself. Already my name is legendary, but men still fear me. Ain't that true, Bill?"

"Oh, oh yes, Captain," Bill stuttered. "Word has it Captain Sparrow sacked Nassau Port without firing a shot. It's what made me want to sail with him."

Jack's chest swelled at that, wishing that was a true story. Well, if he survived this, no harm in spreading it around…but for the moment, he had to calm his heart from exploding in the presence of the devil of the sea.

"Ye see, mate," he said. "There'll be more sailors comin' my way, wantin' to sail your waters. Now how would it be if you collected me and all of them at a later date, eh?"

"You would sacrifice your entire crew to me, Sparrow?" Jones grimaced in disbelief. "I'd hardly believe you'd do such a thing."

"He would!" Barbossa said. "Captain here has brought out the cat on more than one occasion just for crewmen looking at him cock-eyed! Merciless, he is. The only reason I ain't showin' ye any scars is that the captain likes to make 'em in memorable places. But it be worth it. We's just on our way to collect an ancient treasure he was clever enough to discover the whereabouts of."

"How many men?" was all Jones asked.

"Excuse me?"

"How many men, Sparrow?"

"Oh, well, that depends on the allotted time now, doesn't it? Who knows? Given tomorrow, not many, maybe one or two more if I can scrounge some up. But fifty, sixty years from now…"

"Pirates don't live fifty years total, much less fifty more than where they are when I meet up with them. Five years and no more."

"Five? Surely you jest, mate," Jack laughed. "Five years may be a daydream to you, but to those of us who are mortal and lack gills, it's hardly enough time to make one's self a beloved leader with hundreds of followers."

"Hundreds? Why didn't ye say so? One hundred men, thirteen years. And, Sparrow, don't think I'll forget."

XXX

Jack opened his eyes, blinded by the yellow sun overhead. Still on the ship, he raced down the stairs to examine the ship. Not one hole, he marveled, even looked like it had a fresh paint job. The few survivors went about their work, scrubbing the deck and monitoring the nets thrown over the side for the fish. Most of them were shaking, a couple with a white stripe down their darker hairs on the top of their head.

"Well, ye did it," Barbossa said, approaching him with nostrils flaring. "Want to take a guess as to where we are?"

"Judging by the merry sunshine, I'd say we are not on the _Flying Dutchman_," Jack said back with the same tone. "I'd think you'd be a little more grateful I got us all out of such a mess. Jones may have wanted to see those scars in unmentionable places on you if he had more time with you."

"England! We're not a day's journey from England! You take that with whatever doldrums we may hit, it could take a year to reach Isla de Muerta."

"So we have something to do for a year." Inside, Jack grew hot with frustration. He remembered the deal he'd made, thirteen years with this ship, this ship that had always been in desperate need of a new name, one that really emphasized its unique beauty. "I don't think this genteel but formidable lady should be called a wench any longer, do you?"

"I'll tell ye, Jack, ye should be thankin' your lucky stars I'm aboard now," Barbossa said. "I think I may know somethin' about Isla de Muerta that you do not."

Before he could ask for clarification, Bill ran up to them.

"Jack! He sent us to England! Can you believe it? What odds. Jack, request permission to stop in England for a day, just a day. It's time to see the wife and the little one."

"We're talking right now, Bill," Jack scolded.

"We'll take two days at port," Barbossa said.

"Two days?"

"We'll take two days at port and if ye don't want to, _Captain_, then I'll be keeping the real secret of Isla de Muerta to me self." Barbossa shuffled his way down the deck, whistling and adjusting his hat.

"Take the helm, Mr. Turner," Jack sighed. "Go and spend some time with the family."

With a wide grin, Bill ran back up the stairs and gripped the wheel, humming a song to himself, one that sounded like a hymn of sorts.

"All right, _Hector_, what is this secret you know that I do not?"

"Aztec gold."

"Everyone knows they had gold except those ignorant of their history," Jack dismissed with a shrug. "If this is your idea of a revelation…"

"Gold that leads to immortality."

"Aye? Ye made no mention of it before," Jack said with wide eyes. Immortality. Just imagine, one hundred, two hundred years from now, still sailing the seas with a youthful body yet all the experience and knowledge in the world. It would be easy to seduce any young wench with his tales of how life was "long ago" as they would swoon and compliment his storytelling, cooing at how vivid he made it all sound.

"I thought ye knew about it at first, and truth be told, I saw no reason to share the information with the rest of the crew after I concluded you didn't know a thing about it. The Spanish ravaged the Aztec empire, which once had cities bigger than even London. Our diseases wiped out their population, and those who survived were violated and made into slaves. Ye know all that, I'd venture to guess. But oh, did they get their revenge. They never let the Spanish know how it was they lived so long, stayed so pure in form and face.

"Their gods blessed their gold, bestowing on the possessors eternal life. Never to die, Jack! The immortal can't serve aboard the _Dutchman_, that much is known. One only becomes immortal on the _Dutchman _and it ain't the most pleasant way to have it happen, blending in with that cursed ship until ye don't know yer own name anymore. This'll save us all, Jack, since it's not stupid to suppose yer including those you already know as your hundred to go down with ye."

"That was me plan," he admitted. "You know which gold it is?"

"Legend has it, it will have a clearly marked skull on one of the sides, indicating all the owner will avoid—disease, death, expiration. We got about a year's journey ahead of us, but it'd be worth it, agreed?"

"Most definitely agreed," Jack said, feeling his heart rate slow. "Now, we can concentrate on other matters, particularly ones vis a vis this ship."

"What be wrong with the ship? It sails, don't it?"

"I never liked calling it the _Wicked Wench_, didn't fit at all how I felt when I saw it." He paused, but didn't wait for Barbossa to enquire more. "To see a gorgeous ebony ship out on the sea, its sails mix into the night…there's no ship like it, none that could stand against it."

"I'm inclined to agree." Barbossa said. "I walk up and down this deck, and I'll be square with ye again, Jack, it feels a part of me, like it's me own ship. So black, so unique. Yet it don't seem like just anyone can see it. Ye have an idea for it? I was never one for namin' things."

"Yes…" Jack said so slowly it came out the same way steam does from a tea kettle. "The _Black Pearl."_

XXX

After the two days in England, Jack commanded the ship to make its second port in Spain, missing the welcoming sun, the spirited music no Englishman would dare dance to, and a certain well-born lady that might have a few smaller well-born ladies tugging at those immense skirts. Why choke ladies to death with so many layers while the whores can be as comfortable as they please? Jack shrugged away his thoughts as he pulled his hair back through his bandana. He'd considered going in some kind of disguise, apple peddler or something, until he decided it to be too much work. Trini would know him.

A red-faced maid with swollen cheeks answered the door, her hands wringing a plain white dinner napkin.

"I'm here to see Trinidad Valladares, young miss," he said, crossing his arms and looking over the short girl's head.

"Oh, oh…" she moaned.

"Mariana, Mariana, why have you not shown the gentleman in?" Another maid, one with more wrinkles in her face, approached them, casting her eyes down at Jack's boots, seeming to judge him by the cracked leather and damage from the salt water. "May I help you, sir?"

"Is Trinidad Valladares in? I'm sure she would not appreciate her servants standing around wondering what to do with a guest when one comes."

"_La senorita _died three days ago."

Jack's face paled, a harsh shiver tingling down his spine. He opened his mouth, but no voice manifested. "H-how?"

"She fell down the stairs," the wrinkled maid blurted, each word running together in a long string.

"Oh, but, Ana," Mariana began.

"Fell down the stairs, Mariana," Ana snapped. "Get back inside. Now, sir, what business did you have with the deceased? Her uncle is managing her affairs."

"From her fall," Jack repeated, trying to gaze past the opaque pupils of her eyes.

"Yes, from her fall. You may hear some scandalous things being said about our lady. Well, none of them are true."

"If you please…"

"None!" Ana slammed the front door and hearing the turning of the lock, Jack did not know what to do other than turn back and face the front steps, their life gone, compared to what they were when he had walked up them with such a witty enigma of a girl…woman, he corrected himself. She'd looked slightly older than he. He ran his fingers against the lace wrapped around his wrist, faded only a fraction—a miracle when one considered all it had endured right along with him.

"How can we keep up such a lie, Ana? Falling down the stairs? No bruises, nothing. Why…"

Jack stopped at the open window, his ears burning with an intensity as great as if the two had been talking about him.

"Quiet! No one will know anything if you keep your mouth shut. Don Valladares told us how to answer the door and you muddled it! You know how important the family is and here you were about to run your mouth off to a complete stranger…"

"Don't yell at me, Ana," Mariana choked out through tears. "I loved Miss Trinidad and it's not right to say such a lie…"

"You want strangers to know the truth? You want to run out and find that man and tell him how she poisoned herself and kept her soul out of heaven, disgracing her entire family, shaming her uncle's house? You go right out there and tell him, Mariana, and see what happens to her good name. You go right out there and tell him everything!"

Jack did not stay to listen to the younger maid's tears. Keeping his eyes on his, her, his lace, he forgot all about his journey back to the _Pearl_ except the fact that he leaned against her warm hull, imagining her with arms that could be flung around his neck so he could cry on them. His face rigid, he barked a few orders at his crew before opening a fresh rum bottle.


	10. All the Wild Fantasies

**A/N: Special thanks to all those who have left reviews. They mean a lot! Also, this is another plug for Maidenfairhair. She is wonderful and has a plethora of POTC stories for our reading pleasure. But she and I do not own POTC.**

* * *

_One Year Later..._

"Captain."

Jack sat up in bed, blinking out stinging sweat from his eyes. His head throbbed, a constant pounding right in the middle of his forehead. Staggering to his feet, he opened the door from his cabin leading out to the deck. Ragetti, wringing his hands, stared at his own feet. The two stood on opposite sides of the threshold without speaking, one waiting for the other.

"Mr. Ragetti, I'm still a might affected by the celebratory rum. What's the meaning of waking the captain?"

"Sorry, Jack. I was just, just takin' the initiative, ye see…"

"You're achieving that, are ye?"

"The gold is gone."

"What?" With one last pounding smack on his forehead, the gears in his head began to turn, evaporating his previous headache. No one else floated into their particular cave, therefore proving a member of his own crew confiscated the gold.

"I thought it best to come get you, Jack. That was the right thing to do, wasn't it?" Ragetti asked, his false eye staring right into Jack while his real one still memorized the grains of wood on the _Pearl's _deck. Jack followed the gaze, noting Ragetti's trousers barely touched his ankles. Grimacing at the unflattering fit, he snapped his head back up to face him, a delayed nod answering the previous question.

"Shall I investigate with ye, Captain?"

Jack drew his sword, hesitating to answer.

"You're actually armed?"

"Aye," Ragetti said, a cutlass as skinny as he was poking out.

"Right," Jack said. "Where's Bill?"

The presence of every crewman there on deck, facing him with hard eyes, spurned goose bumps up and down Jack's arms, prickling their way up to his back. Each one's sword glistened under the full moon. Centered among them, Barbossa stood erect, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His gold coin he pocketed from that chest in the cave dangled from his belt, thicker than one of the many rum bottles strewn about the deck.

"Where's Bill?" Jack asked again.

Twigg shoved his way to the front of the crowd, pushing Bill with him. His pistol pressed hard against the corner of Bill's jaw. Spying a smirk on Twigg's face, Jack's goose bumps spread up his neck.

"Jack," Barbossa purred, "The men and I been havin' a chat. Nothin' personal, just one too many mistakes on yer part. One would think a man with more experience was warranted."

"One such as you."

"Aye," Barbossa said with a nod. "Start walkin' to the edge."

Like the Red Sea, the men divided in half, making way for Jack to march past them towards the _Pearl's _maidenhead, each one burning holes into their captain with their eyes. Bill's cries faded into the distance as Jack's ears grew hot, almost seeing the swirls of drowning swaying in front of his eyes. Don't faint now, he told himself. Don't faint now. His fingers groped his belt until they fell onto his sword. If he went for Barbossa now, chaos would ensue and the men would once again look to the very person they were mutinying against for leadership. Jack snorted at the thought.

"No fighting, Jack." Barbossa lodged his sword right under Jack's chin. "And if ye think about reachin' for yer pistol, we've already seen to that. One shot is all ye get. One shot."

"So you've thought of everything," Jack said. "Ye know, t'would be a most perfect time for me to wish a plague on both your houses, but I'm going to conjure up something much better for you."

The water just looked cold, he thought, looking over the edge. Tears welled up in his eyes, only adding to the dizzying feeling in his head. Bloody stupid fool. You actually thought they liked you. You just steered 'em wrong is all. No, they don't like you. They never liked you. You made 'em all pirates, bloody idiot. Don't cry.

Don't cry.

"Can't say we'll meet again," Barbossa heckled. "Well, goodbye, Captain Sparrow. Can't right say I'm sorry."

"I can," Jack breathed, his eyes hardening.

Barbossa lurched forward, and then jerked out his arms, reeling Jack over the edge of the _Black Pearl _and into the chilly, salty water below them.

XXX

Jack wondered if the sand that burrowed itself under his shirt collar and through his bandana would ever wash out, or if each grain would embed itself, forming a flea-sized scar the nonobservant, land-loving folk would mistake for a freckle. Did he know anyone who had freckles? Any at all? Well, there had been that freckle-faced…ah, another wooly cloud is blowing by.

Day three of being stranded on this God-forsaken spit of land. Or was it four? Three? Four? Such a pretty wooly cloud.

No, stay focused, Jack told himself, swallowing. The lack of any water created a burning, bloody in his throat. He tapped the empty bottle next to him, the absorbed heat scorching his fingertips. Dear friend, he thought. You dressed yourself up in a fancy brown bottle and then stabbed me in the back. Rum had always seemed to widen his eyes and splash cold water on his face, but now, it only dried his throat and scraped his tongue with a texture rougher than sandpaper. Ah, more clouds.

Arms spread out as if he were on a cross, he gripped the sand, letting it slip through his fingers back onto the beach. If he'd wanted to get up, he would mix it with the ocean water, a muddy, sponge-like substance he could shape into another bottle of rum, perhaps a juicy scarlet lobster with foam substituting for butter.

Butter is expensive, so no, he thought.

Company! Yes, he would sculpt the sand into a person to talk to, to help him gather wood for a fire. He let his hands sway into the sand, forming abstract circles with it. But in his mind, the circles were a pale Madonna face with bright eyes. Hearing a wave swish against the surf, he let it form the words of his new companion—a woman, no—a genie. The rum bottle, when emptied, contained a little genie girl that, when a fortunate soul rubbed said bottle, would pop out with a whiff of musky smoke.

That was what those horse-tailed clouds were, he thought. They were the remnants of his genie's smoke, floating up into the sky. It took two whole minutes for him to turn his head to the side and face the empty rum bottle, its long neck and curvy hips as smooth to the touch as…someone's slender waist and thighs. She'd be a fire genie, surrounded by flames, her hair dancing right along with them. She'd sing, too, with a loud voice failing to care if she hit any of the notes on-key. Why bother to care about such lowly matters when she commanded the fire? Why bother to care about such things when she could make him happier than he could ever make her?

You're alone, Jack. That means no girl, not even a little turtle inching its way along the beach.

Shut up, you. Use your imagination.

No, I rather think I'll conjure up my own little maiden, fashion her exactly how I want her.

Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou makest thy flock to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of thy companions?

"There's a man here! There's a man lying here!"

Jack felt someone pick up his arm, attempting to hoist him to his feet. Damn it, he thought. Didn't they care he was channeling the woman who would finally claim his heart? She was so close. She was in the bloody bottle, damn it all!

"You're alive, sir?"

Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes.

"He's drunk our rum!"

"Rum?" Jack asked with a dry throat. "There's no rum, mate. I drank it." Couldn't his genie tell them that? Treacherous little Delilah, but bloody hell, he loved her anyway.

"Check the hideout!"

Shadows that probably were men ran past him into the island, screaming and shouting profanities that drowned out his love's boisterous singing. They ran back to him, pistols and swords pointed right at his head. His head jerking from weapon to weapon, he kicked his feet, hardly realizing he was still lying in the sand, kicking it up while he made all the motions of running.

Hurry, love! They won't let us be!

"Put your weapons away! Can't you see the man's dying? Load him up."

"Oh! Oh, thank you, good gentlemen. My lady and I were frying in this insidious heat! Where's your sense of chivalry, lads? Take her to the ship first!" Jack tried to wiggle free of their grasp, fighting his way back to the sand. They pinned down his arms, slapping him across the face, shouting 

nonsensical drivel that had nothing to do with the fact a gorgeous woman-genie was about to die, if genie's die…ooh, another wooly cloud.

XXX

They had asked if he had anywhere to go, if anyone might be worried about him. They left him in the bayou, where faces he knew in the past to only be fearful and dehydrated now smiled at his arrival. A few children climbed into the longboat with him, their braids thick like the ropes of the _Pearl. _Kohl outlined their eyes, shielding their eyes from the sun. Not one of them needed to squint when they passed a shady part of the river into a blinding light. She was the last wise person he knew, and even that might be more insight than wisdom.

It took more concentration to walk a straight line now, dry solid land resembling being on a ship now. The men, rum-runners, had a word for it, but Jack had forgotten it, too focused on walking on a line he had drawn in his little cabin they had given him. His speech changed too, he had noticed, having to repeat himself more than he had before. Barbossa, I'll kill you for making me such a clown.

"Come in, Jack."

Jack held his breath and waltzed into the shack, his shoulders back and his expression unreadable. She had no name when he knew her, just one language after another. But the rest of the natives named her once they determined she would be their leader, their medicine woman.

"So pleased to see ye, Jack, or do ya want to be called Jackie like parents called ye?"

"Teague been to see you, Tia?"

"A talented man, him Teague," Tia Dalma chuckled, revealing stained teeth. "It be most fun to know if da son is like da apple dat don't fall far from tree." She stood, her colorful skirt swaying along 

with her hips. Planting a kiss on Jack's cheek, she led him past a jar of eyes to her table, covered in claws and shells from various creatures.

"I want my ship back," Jack said.

"What ya want pretty Tia to do bout it?" She held her hand out to him, exposing her palm. Her fingers ran over each other, the tip of her tongue tapping her upper lip.

"My dear, in exchange for some information, I'm prepared to offer you this." He snapped his Piece of Eight off his bandana and placed it in the center of her palm.

"Ye give your lordship over to me freely? Oh, witty Jack, I don't believe it."

"The other pirate lords might find it amusing. Teague will anyway. Next time he's here you can give it back to him."

"Captain Teague only want to keep to the Code now. Him have his purpose now. But you…what pirate would not want lordship? It makes the mark of a real pirate."

"I ain't a real pirate, Tia," Jack whispered. He hadn't even done anything since he released her and the others, letting them cultivate this sticky, luscious wilderness into a civilization. "If I were to tell the complete truth, I'm a rather miserable pirate."

"A pirate we all know of here. Word of you spreading, Jackie."

"Don't call me that."

"Jack. A wanted man always has him name out and about. Most of da people here honored to say dey know da Captain Jack when traveler mention his name. Now, what is it ye want? Why ye here?" She placed the Piece of Eight back into his hand. "I won't take it. Not now."

"Why not?"

"I want to see ya have some purpose," Tia Dalma said. "It not fit da great Captain Jack Sparrow to mope about, pinin' away for his lost ship." She leaned across the table and kissed both his cheeks, brushing his hair back to whisper in his ear, "I will help ya find dat pretty, pretty _Pearl _if ye let me see da future tru yer eyes."

"Through my eyes? Just what does that entail?" Jack shuddered at what she could do to him, seeing as how a crow lay cut into pieces on her table, a pile of crab claws providing it a pointy mattress for it. Before he could form a word with his gaping mouth, Tia Dalma crawled over the table and leapt on him, ripping his shirt while she tugged it off over his head. "You hold on now," he said. "At least the sun didn't ruin this for me."

Hoisting her over his shoulder, he carried her into the next room. Only a straw-filled bed filled the miniscule room, a sharp contrast from the cramped front room. Purposely throwing her onto the bed, he wiggled out of the rest of his clothes and threw himself on top of her. He pushed her dreadlocks out of her face and kissed her, forcing her mouth open with his. I can tell you what's in your near future, he thought, grinning to himself.

No moan escaped Tia Dalma's throat when he inserted himself into her. Letting his fingertips slide down her neck to her breasts, Jack grunted at the inexpressive face underneath him and shifted to pinning her arms down at her sides. Grinding against her, he nibbled on her collar bone. Lawan had enjoyed that, he remembered. But then, she liked bondage, too.

"Jack," Tia Dalma whispered, her hands holding the sides of his head. "The Brethren Court. Tell me what ya see."

His eyes still closed, she watched Jack's face change from frustrated to observant, darting his head all around, searching a nonexistent room.

"This is Shipwreck Cove," he said, his eyes tightly shut and searching.

"That it is, Jack," she answered him, still underneath him, waiting to see if their intimacy would become anymore satisfying. "The Pirate Lords, the Brethren Court." At least this meeting would be worth her while, she told herself, chest heaving at the information seconds away.

She listened at the names he mentioned, one at a time, noting his tone never changed with any of them. Yes, he confirmed the names she collected over the years, the countless years of waiting, trapped in a single form. She pursed her lips to avoid laughing at this man, covered in tattoos and scars, doing his best to pleasure her. If he only knew what he was really doing.

"That are not all of dem," she snapped at him. "I must know all."

"Barbossa." A look of bitter disgust accompanied his answer, his lips forming a sneer along with the syllables.

"Der any-ting else?" Yes, they would release her soon, now that she knew their names. Each one of them would be under her protection, allowed to live until that time when their Pieces of Eight would join her, become one with her, and let her be what she needed to be. But anyone could spoil such a plan, this Gibbs Jack mentioned, any of the lords, Teague… "Tell me what ya looking at, Jack."

He threw his head back, his chest swelled out as far as it could go. His grip on her arms tightened. Tia Dalma laughed, remembering what men's climaxes were like, so vulnerable. She could drive a knife into his back right this moment and he would never see it coming. With one final jolt, Jack collapsed onto her chest, sweat pouring from his forehead. "Tell me, Jack. Tell me what ya see."

What she thought would be a smirk, melted into a proud, soft smile.

"Lizzie."

She rolled her eyes at the breathlessness of his tone, spying her knife within arm's reach. His Piece of Eight here in her shack, there would be no use for this amusing lord for another ten years. What would it be like to stab a man?

"Wake up now, Jack."

His eyes open, Jack perked his head up and looked from side to side. "Was I drunk?"

Shaking her head, she picked up her knife. Jack dodged it, falling backwards from the bed and onto the floor. Stark naked, he dug through his clothes until he found his sword and held it in front of his body. Her blade met his, a sharp clang echoing throughout the room. They parried, each one nicking the others' wrists.

"I'm beginning to think coming here was not so grand an idea," Jack said, his sword finally knocking her weapon to the ground with a thud. Moving in, he held the sword at her throat. "Did I do something wrong?" He panted the question, his eyes wide with adrenaline and confusion. How could she not smile at such a sight?

"Ya go and leave me now, Jack Sparrow. I have no use for yer eyes or for yer body."

"Now that rather hurts," he said, letting his sword dangle to and fro in front of her face. "Just what all did ye want to know?"

Tia Dalma simply smiled. "Will ya really kill me?"

"No," Jack said, stepping back from her. "You're a little too interesting. So…I was really no good?"

"Well, not as good as I had hoped," she said, standing. Completely naked save for her long locks covering her breasts, she wrapped her bleeding wrist in a cloth. "But I got what I needed from ye." Before Jack could speak, she continued. "I promised ya good reward for the information…and the…love making."

"I presume you have enough decency to avoid spreading word of my once-in-a-lifetime inadequacy," he said, his head on her shoulder, those enormous black eyes pleading with her. "See, I've been told I'm actually very good, and if one of the ladies between here and wherever I may go next would like to see for herself, it would be quite detrimental to said girl and myself if rumor had it I had all the virility of a dying fish."

"No interest have I in what ya sayin," she called to him, throwing a robe over herself and sifting through the clutter in the next room. Pulling his clothes on at a rapid pace, he followed her out, only to come face to face with an object small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

"What is that?"

"You want your _Pearl_, and this will show ya." She extended the object to him, waiting for him to take it. Keeping his other hand on his sword just in case, Jack took the trinket and fumbled it open. A simple compass stared up at him, a ridiculously showy red arrow began to spin. It spun and stopped for a moment to point to his far left, and then edged its way to the one o-clock position at his right. Setting his jaw, he glared back up at her.

"It doesn't work."

"It work. Imagine a map dat tell you where da tings ya want most in da world are. Ya don't have to wait, just follow da map until ya reach it. Dat's what dis compass is, Jack. Men will kill for it."

"It's magic?" Jack asked.

"Tink of what ye most want, what keep you awake at nights and dreamin' durin' da day."

The _Pearl, _he thought, closing his eyes. He pictured it in his mind, sailing a smooth course with only a light breeze acting as any resistance. Staring back at the compass, the arrow spun only once and settled once more at the one o-clock position had it been a timepiece.

"It's that way, then? Is that how it works?"

"Dat's how it works." She grinned back at him. "So comin' here was worth it now, was it?"

"Sorry I can't say the same for you," he said with a frown and a shrug. "I'd like to know what you got out of me, if ye don't mind."

"You'll know in time 'cuz it will happen," Tia Dalma said. "Yer future."

Realizing he would hear no more about whatever he blurted out or showed her while he had been unaware the lass was incapable of enjoying the act of physical lust, Jack nodded his head and groped the table for his hat. "Can't go out without this," he muttered, adjusting it.

"You'll be back on day, Jack Sparrow. You'll be back."

"Yes, but I doubt this will show me the way," Jack said, holding up the compass and shutting the door behind him, never looking back.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, the beginning of Jack's quest. Any predictions? BTW, Jack, in his delirium, quotes a passage from "Song of Solomon." Even Jack knows his Bible...or maybe just the sexy parts.**


	11. Give Nothing Back

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! Please continue them!**

* * *

Jack sprinted out of the church, still draped in a shapeless black robe. Clawing at the white collar strapped around his neck, he only heard the muffled shouting of the crowd behind him. He bit his lip, concentrating on making one leg follow the other. Skidding against the dirt road, he side-stepped into a narrow alley, shadowed by the heavy brick roofs that seemed to squash the little stone buildings attached to them. He stifled a pant, clutching the pine box at his chest. A cloud of dust swirled into the alley, the mob bypassing it with a rabid pace. Wedging himself as far into the alley as he could go, he held his breath until the dust cleared.

Stealing from a church, he thought, shaking his head. If you weren't going to hell before, Jackie boy, you are now. Officially condemned at the ripe old age of twenty-seven. For shame.

At last, his knees began to buckle from squatting for so long. He staggered to stand up, that business with Barbossa and the island years ago forcing his center of gravity to constantly shift. A sad state of affairs when a man can shoot straighter than he can walk, Jack thought, his hand stroking the barrel of his pistol at the remembrance of Barbossa, as it always did.

Ripping the collar off and shaking the robe off, letting it droop down to the ground, Jack stuffed the disguise into a pile of straw against the building. He peered out of the alley, taking note of the serene townspeople, entering and exiting shops, approaching carts and then departing from them—all with the detailed blandness of a Flemish painting. What had he been thinking, agreeing to meet the man in the afternoon rather than at night?

He dumped the coins from the box into a cloth bag and tied it to his coat with a bowline knot, second nature. Whistling to himself, he sat on a bench in the town square, watching the passers-by. _Una spia_, he thought with a laugh. He'd only heard the man's raspy, excited voice once. Musing the kind of face and body that would accompany such a voice, he almost missed the signal.

"It was down by Swansea barracks/one May morning I strayed/a-viewing of the soldier lads/I spied a comely maid/it was o'er her red and rosy cheeks/the tears did dingle down/I thought she was some goddess fair/the lass of Swansea town."

Sitting up, Jack tried to spot the singer without turning his head too much. He cleared his throat. "I said, 'fair maid, what brought you here/what brought you here to mourn?'/'Oh I'm in search of Willie dear/my bonny young sailor boy/Eight years ago he left me here/for Bermuda he was bound/He said he would prove faithful/to the lass of Swansea town."

A sun-damaged, thick face sat on the bench next to him, a cautious smile at the bottom of it. Experienced, competent eyes lit up beneath grayed eyebrows.

"I suppose you're him, since ye be knowin' all there is to know about Willie and his lass and his scar," he said.

"Aye," Jack said, tracing his pistol under his coat. "You have what I want?"

"If ye have what I want."

"Forgive me, sir, but I do seem to have an honest face, I suppose, what with everyone thinking they can take advantage of me. You'll be puttin' out your end of the bargain first." His teeth bit down on the insides of his cheeks, preparing to be able to shoot this man without a second thought.

"Ye just said ye wanted to know the whereabouts of the _Black Pearl. _Well, I can tell ye I saw it not one week ago, comin' here all the way from England with that prig Swann and his little girl. The king must be tryin' to get rid of him, sendin' him all the way to Port Royal and all."

"It's no secret Weatherby Swann's a hopeless ass," Jack agreed, offering the man an aged flask, aged, but just as able to hold a sweet pint of rum as a new one forged of silver. The older man took a hearty swig, smacking his lips at the sweetness of the contents inside. "Yours to keep, free of charge. Tell me more about all the idiots who may or may not have seen the _Pearl." _

"Far from idiots," the man said, momentarily breathless from his gulp. "They sent James Norrington with him."

"That does change things," Jack whispered, a frown forming on his face. Just a lieutenant, James Norrington's reputation transcended oceans. Seven pirate ships sunk, fifty-nine pirates hanged, countless others rotting in some jail cell—Port Royal's lax law enforcement might see a change coming. It wouldn't be long, Jack thought, before this whole square is torn apart, each man lined up and examined to see if they wear the brand. What is the phrase? A short drop and a sudden stop? He fingered his own neck, Trini's lace rubbing his throat. "So you were coming from England?"

"That we were. Foggy day at sea, not half a day's distance from this very port. Well, other than that, it was routine, up until we saw the carnage. I don't know if ye can imagine, but through all that mist, flames bright as Jupiter's thunderbolt cut through it until it cleared the way, goin' up like a stage curtain." The man's hands made the gesture, fingers spread apart and stretched out. "Then there it was: the legendary _Black Pearl_, as black as the vicious pirate what captains it."

"And who be that pirate?" Jack asked, leaning forward. He told himself it was to test this storyteller's credibility, but it was as if he were in bed with Mum spinning one of her tales, the conclusion a mystery until the very end.

"The murderous pirate lord Barbossa," the man said.

Pirate lord? How did that happen? Jack shook his head, afraid to miss any more details. _Ridiculo._

"He wasn't always the captain, oh no," the man continued. "It used to belong to Captain Jack Sparrow, the Spear of Destiny in the East India Trading Company's side. Well, no one's quite sure why it happened, but old Barbossa marooned the sorry sod and took the _Black Pearl _for his self. Well, one look at it, and I almost felt I couldn't blame him. A true beauty, that ship. Eyes don't go wanting.

"Now, as if Barbossa ain't ferocious enough, legend says the _Pearl _is cursed, as dark a Jezebel as ever there was one, luring men to her and then stabbin' them in the back so. First captain marooned and left for dead, the second cursed, unable to die."

"Unable to die?"

"The devil's been shot at, stabbed, even hanged once…did that stop him? No. He and his crew just keep sailin' the world, searchin' for one medallion, just one medallion small enough to be a rich man's monocle."

"I'll refill that flask for ye if ye keep going," Jack said. "Mister…"

"Gibbs. Joshamee Gibbs. T'would say I work on Lieutenant Norrington's ship, but…let's just say he found out just how far my like of the drink goes." Gibbs waggled the flask in front of him before taking his next drink. "Strapped for money, one might be able to see why the amount of money you offered seemed such a good deal."

"Indeed."

"Indeed. Where was I?"

"Medallions—one to be exact."

"Ah yes! Ever heard the name Bootstrap Bill?"

Jack shook his head, his forehead wrinkling. Surely that couldn't be Bill. Bill had a pistol pointed right at him during that whole mutiny. They had to have killed him after that.

"Bootstrap Bill's the only crewman that wanted to spare Captain Jack. Barbossa's not having any of that, so he puts old Bootstrap in the brig. But the soul has too much honor in him still. Finally, Barbossa straps him to a cannon by his bootstraps and sends him to the bottom of the sea."

"That can't be true." Jack paled. Good man, Bill. "Then what about his piece of the treasure?"

"You know your stories!" Gibbs chuckled, slapping Jack on the back. "So ye know the Aztec gold story. This is part of that same story. Well, ye know all the crew have 'em one piece of the gold, except Captain Jack who by now is wallowin' away on some desert island. Bootstrap sends his medallion home! Have ye heard about the way to fix the curse?"

"The blood of all who have a coin."

"Naturally, with Bootstrap on his way to Davy Jones and the medallion sent off to God-knows-where, the crew of the _Black Pearl _scourge the sea, destroyin' anything they think stands in the way of that medallion and lifting the curse."

"So," Jack sighed, still in disbelief about Bill, "you saw that ship not half a day's journey from here? Tell me, Mr. Gibbs, did Captain Sparrow survive his ordeal?"

"You bet he did! The man has a record a mile long! Last I heard, he impersonated an officer in the Spanish navy, just to pilfer an English ship and frame them Spaniards. He got off that island in three-days' time, ropin' some sea turtles that took him all the way to Portobello and back." Gibbs paused, eyeing the bag knotted at Jack's waist. Untying it and dropping it into Gibbs' lap, Jack sat back and let his hand stroke the long strand of hair that fell in front of his shoulder. He'd always liked how Tia Dalma and her village kept their hair out of their faces, and now that it was locked and kept behind his bandana, he forgot that Teague also kept his hair that way. It was too practical a style to abandon for sentimental reasons. That and the kohl along his eyes rendered him unrecognizable to anyone that knew him before his pirating days, and to anyone that did know him as a pirate, it only improved what they had already seen.

"What interest have ye in the _Black Pearl_?" Gibbs asked him. "Yer goin' after it?"

"Yes," Jack said, turning towards him. "She's always been mine." With that, he pushed back his shirt to show off his sparrow tattoo, the little creature still flying into the horizon. He smiled at it.

"Holy Virgin. Jack Sparrow."

"Captain Jack Sparrow, and you've been most helpful, Mr. Gibbs."

"Gibbs!"

The two turned their heads to see five officers behind the bench, armed with bayonets and shocked expressions.

"We've been looking for you!" one of them shouted. "One too many nights of drunken debauchery."

"Gentlemen!" Jack stood, his one hand still hidden. "Join us. Mr. Gibbs here was good enough to lecture me on the dangers of public drunkenness. Showed a scoundrel a thing or two it did."

"You're under arrest!" another one of them growled.

Jack and Gibbs sprang up from the bench and ran into the town, whizzing by the shops and vendors, shoving a few slow townsfolk out of their way.

"Where are we running?" Gibbs huffed behind Jack.

"Follow me!"

The number of seagulls circling over them increased as they reached the harbor. Jack leapt to the lines of the first ship he saw, thanking God the heat had nearly ruined his stride but left his hands alone. Scrambling to release the lines, he spotted Gibbs catching up from the corner of his eye. Gibbs practically slammed himself into the ship, climbing up to the deck and preparing the ship.

You leave me here, old man, and I'll kill you, Jack thought, shocked at his own heartlessness. Don't look at him! Look at the rope! He immediately placed his attention back on the ropes, untying the last one just as the officers sped towards him.

"Stop!"

Jack dove into the water, only a few feet away from the ship.

"Sparrow!" Gibbs called to him, tossing a rope overboard. Gripping it, Jack paddled closer to the ship, feeling Gibbs hoisting it up. The two of them climbed and pulled on the rope until Jack toppled onto the deck, a puddle of sea water staining the deck until the sun decided to drink it up. Using the remainder of his energy to get up without wobbling, Jack grabbed the helm and gave the ship a sharp turn.

"Let's go after him!" he heard one of the officers say.

"And commandeer someone's ship?" another said. "Scandalous."

Gibbs let out a deep laugh and hoisted the colors.

"Till we meet again, gentlemen!" Jack yelled to them, drunk off of his escape. "I guess today will be the day you only _almost _caught Captain Jack Sparrow!" Letting his laughter die off, he turned back to Gibbs. "Still got your money, or in all the anarchy, did it see fit to lose you?"

"Got it." Gibbs patted his pocket. "If you'd be so kind as to drop me off at Tortuga…"

"Ye could have left me," Jack said.

"Aye, but after hearin' ye'd been marooned before…" Gibbs shrugged. "I just thought it would be more sporting if…say, there any truth to that sea turtle part, by any chance? I made it up."

"I neither confirm nor deny anything, mate." Jack slapped Gibbs on the back. "What all is there in Tortuga? You think we could sell this heap to anyone?"

"What's in Tortuga?" Gibbs repeated, his eyes wide. "Prepare yourself for your home away from home! We'll find some other pirate that lacks a ship and sell this shoddy excuse of a ship. Split the money fifty-fifty. Why, back when I serviced officers to and from England…"

"Mr. Gibbs, how would you like to help me get my ship back?"

Gibbs stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth agape. Unable to help himself, Jack let out a laugh at the sight of a speechless storyteller.

"There's the position of mate in it for ye," Jack continued, sweetening the deal. "I could use someone who won't leave me."

XXX

Jack shivered in spite of the sweat dripping down his neck and chest, enough to fill a few buckets, he'd wager. The dreams he'd been having, Bill on the _Flying Dutchman_ of all places, condemned himself to it for trying to avenge his former captain. When he was a child, he'd killed a man Teague had sent to bring back his treasure…by any means necessary. That brute had deserved it and yet he'd felt terrible after he'd done it. That same smothering feeling visited him that night, hovering over him and the two wenches he'd paid for, waiting for all of them to fall asleep before preying on him. Bill's face, bloated from drowning, looking up one last time at the swirls that swam in front of one's face when said person drowned, only to be picked up by Davy Jones.

He tossed to his other side, facing his other wench's sleeping face, her face paint smeared over her eyelids and cheeks. She'd seemed the type to just lie there and let him do all the work and he'd been right. Squeezing himself through the covers and out through the foot of the bed, he dressed himself and sorted through their dresses. Women always had the best clothes, he thought, soft dresses that actually breathe in this weather, unlike the hulking leather and tweed and all the other rough materials reserved for men's clothes. At last he discovered the coins he'd paid them with and pocketed them.

"Should always leave the customer satisfied, ladies," he whispered to the two naked women sharing a bed. If he had cared to waste more time on them, it would have been a fun image to watch for a while.

That Aztec medallion he'd only seen once lingered in his mind, wrapping itself around Bill's throat and strangling the life out of him. He shuddered and tried to think of something else, but the guilt would not let go of him. Maybe Gibbs would have some news for him. Dobbs was reported to have been seen in Tortuga. Jack thought it strange that the rest of the crew of the _Pearl _wouldn't be about, but shrugged it off.

"Gibbs?" he yelled when he reached the downstairs tavern. For once, the tavern was empty enough for someone to shout on one side and be heard on the other. A few miserable card players sat at a lone table, each one trying to win back his earnings. A few maids scrubbed the tables with unraveling cloths and dirty water.

All right now. I can fix this, he thought. He took out his compass and opened it, forcing himself to want to know Gibbs' location more than anything. It took effort, but not time, to change what one wanted most, he had found out. The arrow lingered, then swayed to the other side and lay still. To get to the _Pearl_, he needed Dobbs, and to find out about Dobbs, he needed Gibbs.

He followed the arrow out to the back where the pigs and a few chickens camped out, keeping cool in the mud and the moonlight. Something was wrong. What kind of man turns down a warm bed in the middle of the night to come out and parade around with some livestock?

Suddenly, from behind the barn, a man fired a shot. Missing by more than four feet, Jack drew his pistol and fired within a split second. Just as the explosion of the shot quieted, the thud of the body dropping to the ground replaced it. The man did not look familiar, and that disturbing hole in his forehead didn't help matters, Jack observed. That's another one to haunt ye with, but he dispelled those thoughts. If someone was trying to kill him, someone was trying to kill Gibbs. Jack wished he had drawn his sword instead at such a bad shot of an enemy. He'd wasted a bullet and there was no way he would draw his other pistol. No, that shot was reserved for someone truly deserving of it…

"Out of bullets, Jack?"

Spinning around, Jack came face to face with Beckett, his hands behind his back as always. Mercer and another man kicked open the barn door, revealing Gibbs tied up with a knife pressed against him.

"I forgot how short you are," Jack said.

"I've been tracking you, Jack," Beckett said, slinking over to him. "And I propose an exchange."

His brand burned at the sight of Beckett and Mercer, but Jack felt chills at Beckett approached. The man always stood so close and always looked so, so…he could joke with Bill about what he thought of Beckett, but in person, it just disturbed him. He didn't like how the man's eyes seemed to light up at the sight of him, seeming almost…hungry.

"I don't think my coat would fit ye, mate," he said. "We could try, but it would be a most uneven exchange."

"I'll ignore that. You've brought your compass out here, I see." Before Jack could respond, Beckett resumed his monologue. "In fact, word has it you take it out and look at it no matter if you are lost or not. Now, there is a legend of a compass that does not point north but points to something much better, but it was thought to be lost. Am I to assume it's been found?"

"Couldn't tell ye."

"Ho ho, you will, Jack. In fact, you'll give it to me of your own free will." He twisted his body to face Gibbs. "You'll do it, or we'll slit this drunkard like a Christmas goose. Your choice."

**A/N: The song is called "Old Swansea Town" and in its entirety, is eerily close to the plot of the POTC series. I do not own POTC, and I accept all compliments, questions, criticism, and comments, so leave reviews! Please!**


	12. Anamaria, Gabriel, and Falkenburg

Jack knew if he tossed Beckett the compass, there was the slight, but ever so plausible possibility that Mercer may just kill Gibbs anyway. He swallowed, thinking of anything he could say to stall for time.

With a heightening growl, Gibbs slammed into Mercer, driving him to the ground. The remainder of the henchmen sprinted off into the night. Primitive screams emitted from both men, tussling on the dirt. Jack whipped out his pistol once more and sprang on Beckett, holding his arms while he positioned the pistol at his head. A yelp would have been most pleasurable, he thought, but only a brief flare in Beckett's eyes reacted to the sudden twist of events. Jack pressed the pistol harder into his head.

"Are you going to just stand there silently, Jack, or do you have demands?" Beckett asked, his back bending at the awkward hold Jack had him in, tensing.

"Demands. Of course I have demands, ye clamorous little titmouse. Mr. Gibbs! What are our demands?"

"Demands?" Gibbs repeated, straddling Mercer and pushing down on his throat. "Uh, well, I think a ship might be a good idea, plus a full pardon for yourself."

"Ooh, I like that. Do you hear that, Beckett? A full pardon for myself."

Before Beckett could respond, Mercer bucked underneath Gibbs, punching him right in the gut. Gasping for breath, Gibbs picked up the feed pail with both hands and rammed it into the side of Mercer's head. Jack kicked Beckett away and tapped Gibbs' shoulder as he ran past him.

"There'll be another time for demands, mate. Run!"

They bolted into the Tortuga streets, still full with drunks, whores, and the occasional opium dealer.

"We're too far inland to get to a ship!" Jack cried out.

"At this point, I'd take a carriage!" Gibbs called back, glancing behind him to see Beckett and Mercer chasing them down. Exactly at the same time, they spotted two horses lapping up water from a trough across from their coach, saddled and waiting for their masters who probably could not recite the alphabet after exploring Tortuga for so long. Jack and Gibbs leapt on top of them and rode down the street, the horses' clopping matching their excited heartbeats. Gunshots rang past them.

Jack took seconds to twist his body to the side to fire behind them. It was probably not advisable for someone whose mind baked in the sun for a couple of days to ride a horse down narrow streets at this pace, he thought to himself, but closed one eye and fired at the carriage barreling its way to them. The front left wheel hit, it hobbled and veered until it collided into one of the thatched pubs.

"Where to?" he asked Gibbs, turning back and pulling hard on the reigns to slow the gallop.

"Anywhere what's got grog," Gibbs said, shaking. "I know! Come on. I know a place to lay low, provided they still live there."

"Well, do ye think 'they' still live there?" Jack asked, concealing his pistol into his coat.

"By guess and by God."

XXX

"Keep a weather eye," Gibbs warned, the two of them approaching a small shack on the outskirts of town. "Gabriel and Anamaria are good folk, but look suspicious or try to take their hodgepodge and they'll take the cat out of the bag, make no mistake."

"No skylarking. Ye have me word." Jack nodded.

Gibbs took hold of the knocker and tapped the door with it. A glimmer of candlelight shone through the jamb when the lock turned and a lean, dark man with arched eyebrows met them.

"Gibbs?"

"Gabriel!" Gibbs spread out his arms and wrapped them around the skinny foal of a man. "We're in a bit of a spot, me captain and me. T'was hopin' ye could put us up for the night."

"Who's after you?" Gabriel asked, his voice soft. He gestured them inside and ladled soup from the cauldron on the fire. Placing the two bowls on the table, he sat down, waiting for them to follow suit. "Who's after you, Gibbs?"

"Cutler Beckett."

"Mother and Child, Gibbs! That's not some local law enforcement. That's the East India Trading Company." His head turned towards Jack. "What did you do?"

"Me? Why not ask him?" Jack scoffed. "Did it ever occur to ye that maybe your friend here is in a spot?" It was a trifling thing to be angry over, and it was true that Jack was the one they were after, but for a stranger to assume so just felt like a blow. Suppose Dobbs had never been in Tortuga? Suppose Beckett invented the rumor and saw that it spread throughout the little cove, knowing it would reach someone who would tell Jack?

"You're the one that looks like trouble," a voice said from behind them. A tall woman that shared the same build as her brother stomped down the stairs, her black hair smooth and down to her shoulder blades. "You match the description of Jack Sparrow. Beckett has a lot of money offered for your capture. You're lucky Gabe and I put our own interests ahead of anything else." She pulled a chair out from the table and sat backwards on it. "Been holding up, Gibbs?"

"Well, I've been better, lass, but can't complain." He sipped his soup and sighed. "If we could stay here for a night and then maybe take a ship…"

Take a ship? Jack cocked his head at Gibbs. These two, these two at this table, owned a shipyard? He took a spoonful of his soup, letting it warm him from the inside out.

"You must be Captain Sparrow," Anamaria said. "Your father bought a ship from us not one year ago. He said you might have to show up here." Her long legs took her to a small secretary off by itself in the corner. She came back with a captain's log and flipped through the pages, each page more like a leaf, like pages in a Bible. They were so thin Jack could see the writing bled through to the other side. "Yep. Captain John Teague, purchased one ship ten months ago. Paid us in gold. It was just a small schooner, Captain Sparrow. Can we expect the same from you?"

At a loss, Jack cleared his throat.

"I like to see what I buy," he said. "It would be best if I explored your inventory and settled on something. After all, it's not as if it's going to replace my ship."

"Since when do you have a ship?" Gabriel spoke up, clearing the table. His long lashed eyes set on Jack, probing him.

"I have always had a ship. It's just not with me at the moment."

"Ye might as well let it go, sir. If a pirate loses his ship to another pirate, it's usually renamed, repainted, new colors hoisted above it. You'd never recognize it." He took his sister's bowl and commenced scrubbing the inside of it. "Not to mention all the ships tend to look alike after a bit anyway."

"I'd know the _Pearl _anywhere. Besides, there's no way Barbossa would make her look any different than she was when I had her. He's got it bad for her himself, he does. And why change what's already perfect?" Jack leaned back in his chair and rest his hands behind his head. These two had a lot to learn if they were ship owners that catered to pirates and all manner of villainy. "I risked a lot to have the _Pearl_, I did. Made a deal with Davy Jones himself for it."

"Davy Jones?" Anamaria gasped, scooting her chair closer to him. "You made a deal with Davy Jones? Sir, you are as daft as they say you are. How long did he give you?"

"Thirteen years."

"Jack was on his way to Isla de Muerta, on his way to immortality, when Barbossa decided to take captaincy of the _Pearl_," Gibbs said. "Had one golden year captaining that fine ship before she and he parted ways."

"Isla de Muerta?" Gabriel waved his hand, dismissing the name. "Why bother with that? It's the key you'll be wanting."

"Key?"

"Some pirate you are, Captain Sparrow," Anamaria mocked. "Have you not heard the story about Davy Jones and his chest?" She smirked when he shook his head, making a face at Gibbs. Wasn't one of the reasons he'd hired Gibbs in the first place was to fill him in on these things? "Legend has it that Davy Jones was once a man, a man that can visit land every hundred years seeking the company of a woman."

"It's ten years, Anamaria. Get it right."

"I'm telling the story how I've heard it! His ghost ship the _Flying Dutchman _wasn't always a ghost ship, either. But during one of these visits ashore to see his lady, she wasn't there. Davy Jones vowed his ship would never have a home and began keeping those lost at sea for himself."

"See, Anamaria, you're tellin' it all wrong," Gibbs said. "I'll set you straight, Captain."

"About time you did."

"Er, yes," Gibbs gulped. "Well, like all men, Davy Jones loved the sea, but not so much like all men, he actually fell in love with the sea. From that time on, he said he'd never leave the sea, save for visitin' the land once every ten years. Ten years, Anamaria. But perhaps the most mysterious part of his story is his chest, the dead man's chest."

"What is that?"

"That's what you'll want to be goin' after," Gabriel interrupted. "Forget goin' after some ship and listen to me. Whatever the reason for Davy Jones deciding to stay at sea for all time, he hid a chest in a secret location, buried in the ground the very thing he felt was the source of all his troubles and pain. He cut out his own heart and tossed it into the chest as if it were a crumb and set sail without it. They say that he felt so much pain in his life that if one were to find his heart, they could wield it so they could make him do anything, anything, including releasing certain people from their bonds and debts. That's the part that interests you."

"I have a feeling I could find this chest if I really wanted to," Jack said with a smug expression, fingering his compass dangling from his belt. He could put off the _Pearl _for a few days, track down this chest, break the locks, and hold a slimy heart in the palm of his hand. "You mentioned a key. This key unlocks the chest? Where is that?"

"Ah, there's the rub," Gabriel said, shaking his head. "No one knows."

"Someone knows." Anamaria rolled her eyes. "There's a picture of it. Captain Sparrow, many years ago, a sailor tried to find the chest. He spotted the key and memorized every detail of it, because he could never actually get it. So he drew it on a scrap of hide and curled it up into an empty bottle. He chucked it out into the sea, hoping one day that if he couldn't unlock the chest, someone else could."

"That's a bedtime story," Gibbs said. "Ain't no proof of that ever happening."

"Name's Captain Falkenburg and he's got the hide," she argued. "Our mother told us all about him and I'll slit you good, Gibbs, if you call our mother a liar. He's on the other side of the world somewhere, holding onto that hide, too old to go out and get it himself. He's waiting for someone to come and ask him about it, so he can give it to them himself. There you have it. You get the hide, you know what the key looks like. You know what the key looks like, you can go about getting it. You get the key, you unlock the chest, and then the sea is at your fingertips. Not a bad bedtime story."

XXX

Unable to sleep, Jack sat in the same chair he did when the household was awake, imagining what such a key would look like, wanting to see it more than anything. It was high time he started thinking about living longer than just the few more years Davy Jones allotted him. Opening his compass, he closed his eyes and pictured the key, trying to push the _Pearl _out of his mind. Trying to push out of his mind what steering his ship felt like, pushing out of his mind the intimidated faces when his ship sailed by, pushing out of his mind the majesty of his colors flying atop the mast, he pictured the key.

The compass spun and rested at the seven o'clock position, only to whirl all the way around to the five o'clock position.

Snapping the compass shut, he rolled his eyes at his own mind. Surely the will to survive, to be free, meant more to him than some ship. It's not just some ship, he told himself, and then rolled his eyes again. It should be pathetic to love a ship so, but love is never pathetic to the lover. What if he could get Gibbs to want that key more than anything else? It might be worth a try, letting someone else hold onto the compass for a time.

"Jack?"

"Mr. Gibbs." Gibbs came down the stairs, still dressed for the day and a concerned look over his face.

"Not able to sleep?"

"Just thinking." Jack placed the compass into a coat pocket.

"I was thinkin' too. Why does Beckett want your compass? I know it don't point north, but where does it point? That Mercer fella had me so tight, I couldn't hear a word."

"It was just words, Mr. Gibbs," Jack said. "He'll do and say anything to capture me." His ears grew hot at telling such a lie to Gibbs. He should trust the man by now, never taken a wrong step as long as he'd had Gibbs by his side. He failed to mention all that Davy Jones business, but that wasn't betrayal, more like absentmindedness. Still, why give the man an opportunity to betray him at all? Do you really want to know what Gibbs would want more than anything? No, no one but Captain Jack Sparrow should hold Captain Jack Sparrow's compass, he told himself.

"Ah. Well, I been checkin' around. All that word on Dobbs was codswallup. I'm thinkin' it might be a good idea to start lookin' for that key."

"To find the key we need a ship," Jack said, shaking his head. "And I'm short on funds, savvy?"

"Who needs funds?" Gibbs said with a grin and led Jack outside. Gabriel and Anamaria's shack opened up to a vast field where all the music and shouting matches in the pub district feared to tread. Past a few rows of trees, Jack spotted the faint outline of a road. Zigzagging down the little hill, they made their way to the street, hands on their pistols in case Beckett deduced they were still in Tortuga and had not made an even further run for it. Their pace slowed, however, at the sound of footsteps in the distance.

"Beckett?" Gibbs asked.

Jack looked over his shoulder. Anamaria ran by in the distance, pulling one of the horses' reins. She hoisted herself on top of it and rode over to the road without seeing them, the horse trotting along without care.

"Follow her," Gibbs urged, pushing on Jack's back.

"Why?"

"She might be goin' down to their shipyard. We can take one of their ships, ye see?"

Jack grinned at the plot and quickened his pace to keep up with a trotting horse. They stayed a distance away from Anamaria, partly due to the impracticality of following a horse and partly due to attempting inconspicuousness. The smell of the sea tapped on their nostrils when at last they reached about half a dozen rows of rickety wood trying to make up a harbor, a few ships docked at each one.

"Afraid it's not very big." Gibbs shrugged.

"All we need is one," Jack said, patting Gibbs' shoulder. "Stay here. I want to see which one our fine hostess is seeing to."

Anamaria tied off the horse and snuck aboard one of the ships, a small brown yawl with yellowed sails. It wasn't worth commandeering, but this spitfire and her brother, for all their assurances they were a legitimate business, had "pirate" written all over their faces and if Jack knew anything about pirates who had been in the business longer than he had, they always had something worth taking. He waited for her to descend into the cabin of the small boat. A little sharp-featured, her lean muscles and tight curves alone made her worth watching. Maybe if she didn't find his eavesdropping on her all that humorous, she might like to be taken on in a different matter.

XXX

Gibbs eyed a felucca before settling for a much simpler sloop, which made up the most of Gabriel and Anamaria's inventory. Maybe one wouldn't be missed, he thought with a guarded optimism. He climbed aboard and inspected the lines. This one would surely do, and Jack had failed to specify any preferences.

"Gibbs! Cast off!"

Gibbs peered out into the rest of the harbor. Jack came running with all the stealth of a drunken lizard, screaming "cast off" with a severe hoarseness. Gibbs scrambled down to untie it.

"Come back here, you tardy-gaited miscreant!" Anamaria ran after him, shooting her pistol at him, fuming.

"Cast off, Gibbs! Cast off!" Jack slammed into the side of the boat and slithered up onto the deck, dodging bullet after bullet.

"Dankish knave!" she shrieked, picking up a rock and hurling it at him. She shuffled around for another, larger one and flung it, missing Jack's head by inches. By now, the yawl was making its way out to sea, Gibbs at the helm and Jack finally meeting up with him. She threw another rock with so much force it looked like her toned shoulder would pop out of its socket. "Come back here! That's our ship, ye wicked scoundrels! Come back here!"

"What happened?" Gibbs asked.

"Can't tell ye, mate."

"Oh, come now. Ye were runnin' out of there somethin' fierce! What'd ye see?"

"Nothing."

**A/N: I know it's short, but more wil come. **


	13. The Return of the Black Pearl

It smarted like a slap in the face, going up the river back to see her. He and Gibbs rowed the longboat through the lazy current, the buzzing and clicking of the insects providing the only sound. Usually, the bayou roared with life, but on such a muggy day like this, most everyone probably decided to stay inside.

"All this haze's as thick as pea soup!" Gibbs observed, taking a deep inhale. "You're sure she'll want to see you?"

"If anyone has a better idea as to how to locate Captain Falkenburg, Tia Dalma will." Jack clucked his tongue at the mentioning of her name. Bad enough he'd had to fill Gibbs in on his last meeting with her, but he broke a promise to himself about not seeing her ever again after she decided for no reason it would be most sporting to knife fight him. His head dropped to focus on his rowing, his hands more callused than the last time he visited.

They tied the boat off and clamored up to her shack, still looming over the misty river. He held his compass to his chest, hand shaking at the thought of giving up such a tool. "Keep your distance from her," he warned Gibbs, and turned the rusted handle.

"Tia?" he sang out, a sickening feeling creeping up his windpipe. "Where ye hiding, my dear?"

"Jack!" She swaggered over to him, throwing her arms around him and sniffing the brim of his hat. "Ya been far away in yer travels."

"Yes, that I have. Tia Dalma, this is me first mate Joshamee Gibbs, and we're both here to see you about a matter of interest…"

Tia Dalma stroked Gibbs' cheek, smiling wide enough to expose her teeth and turned back to Jack.

"Always most int'restin' to see da future in da present."

"Speaking of which, I was wondering if during that little peek into my life all those years ago if ye happened to pick up on the whereabouts of…"

"How old are ya now, Jack?" As before, Tia Dalma showed no sign of aging in these last ten years, her hair still a tangled heap of the blackest hue and her hands so smooth they resembled finely sculpted china with cocoa spilled over it. She glided back to her table in the center of the room, even more cluttered than it was before, now with strands of coral and goat haunches suspended from her ceiling on gut-stained fish hooks.

"Thirty-five."

"A long time ya been gone," she said. "Hope what ya brought to me wort da trouble."

"I've come to return this to you in exchange for some information." His hand trembled as it held out the compass to her. Maybe one day he would get it back. If Falkenburg gave him the drawing of the key on that hide, he could pick up some trinket somewhere and barter it back. Giving up the compass felt like handing her the _Black Pearl _on a slab and demanding Tia Dalma reduce her to ashes.

"Ya don't want dis no more?"

"Uh…I'm in a bit of a spot, Tia. It's not that I don't want such a useful thing that just so happens to fit in my pocket just right, but…" He wrung his hands. "I'm sort of destined to serve on the _Flying Dutchman _next year unless you or some other higher power sees fit to smile on me."

At the mention of the _Flying Dutchman_, Tia Dalma's smile withered. Her jaw fell ajar. "Ya saw Davy Jones?"

"In the flesh…or scales, or is it something in between?" It was just the reaction he wanted to see from her. Evidence piled up in favor of his theory he worked on over the years, not that he could really do anything with the information, except recall a certain tale his father told him back when they could be on the same ship, nigh, the same country, without trading punches. "I'm going after the dead man's chest."

"Den ya be wantin' yer compass." She tapped his hand that still held onto the compass and plopped down to her table. "What have ya done, foolish Jack?"

"Now, now. I have a plan to get out of it. I just need something from you, and if you won't take my compass, you must make me a bargain. Anything you want, I'll happily go and get it if you help me this one last time."

"One last time? Ha! Der be no end in sight wid da help I give ya, Jack. You come back again and again, always promisin' yourself it be da last time. Hear my wisdom, witty Jack. Da promises of men don't mean nothin' to no one." She gathered the crab parts on the table and set them off to the side in a pile. "What ya want?"

"Tell me how to find Captain Falkenburg," he said.

"Mr. Gibbs."

"Aye, my lady?" Gibbs leaned forward, and Jack had to hand it to his old friend. Most everyone else he knew would shrink away from the mysterious witch, but if Gibbs feared any part of her, he concealed it quite well, taking her hand and kissing it like he was meeting some princess.

"What tink ya of all dis?"

"Anything the Captain thinks is a good idea is a good idea," he said. "I've been with him too long to think otherwise. See, we figure we'll get our hands on this chest and…"

"What bout da _Pearl_?" she interrupted, a cat-like smile coming back to her face.

"You'd be mad if ye think I'd forgotten about her," Jack said. "But in order to enjoy sailing on said vessel, I have to be sure I'm in charge of my future, savvy? Now come on, Tia. Just you consider tellin' old Jack what you want and he'll go out and get it for you. I used to do that all the time, go out and find what people want, and I know better than to make an offer of me one-sy, remembering how bad a time you had keeping up with me last time."

"Keepin' up wid?" she laughed, but then stared up at Gibbs. "All right. I help ya."

"My dear, you are a goddess," Jack said, sneering at her suspicious expression. Oh yes, I know all about you, he thought. Calypso. Even bound in human bones like the song says you still can't control all those immortal urges. "Where do I find the good Captain Falkenburg?"

"Far far away. Constantinople."

"So he's alive still? Where in Constantinople?"

Tia Dalma paused, staring straight at Jack, and then at Gibbs. Tossing a few of her longer locks behind her shoulder, she asked, "Innit somebody missin' from yer group, or was dat da future I saw?"

"Don't rub it in me face that I don't remember one bloody thing I told you." Jack stood, his arms bracing both sides of the table. Oh, he'd never struck a woman before, but he relished the thought of striking a goddess down a peg or two. "If you're going to help me, then help me, but don't sit there and pretend to be beating around the bush with it, Calypso. Give me an answer."

"No."

"What Jack means, my lady," Gibbs interjected, taking Jack's elbows and setting him back down, "is that we're a far cry from what you'd call intelligent by human standards, so when we're in the presence of one such as you, we have a hard time understanding everything you say. Now, we're willing to go get anything you may need or want if you would just tell us the whereabouts of the legendary Captain Falkenburg in a manner in which we can understand."

Tia Dalma laughed, clapping her hands together in sheer delight.

"No, not yet. Ya have to wait just a little longer to find dat captain. But help ya I will." The back of her hand held her chin and she gave off a seductive smile, her other hand shuffling her crab pile back to the center of the table. She stacked the parts up as high as they would go before toppling over and falling back onto the table surface, a crunch accompanying a few of the unlucky ones. "Port Royal."

"Port Royal?" Gibbs blurted. "Miss, I said we was just simple humans. Simple pirate humans. Ye can't expect us to go to Port Royal, not now that Norrington's been there a good eight years."

"Why there?" Jack asked.

"Cuz of da pretty _Pearl._"

Jack sat completely still, searching her eyes for some motive, some lie.

"The _Pearl_'s just over in Port Royal, is it?" he breathed, his leg jiggling under the table.

"No." Before either of them could ask what she meant, she said, "Not yet."

"When?" Jack whispered.

"Two days time," Tia Dalma said. "You go der now, Jack Sparrow, and see what wonderful tings come yo way. It be yer future." She stood when he failed to respond. "What's da point in savin' yer soul if der be nothin' to save it for? Your precious ship lie not far from here. Take dat fast ship and sail it to your missing captain. Den, and only den, will ever-ting I saw come true!"

"What, what do you want in exchange?" Jack asked, catching his breath and remembering to whom he was talking.

"Nothing."

"Come on, Tia. What do you want? You wouldn't tell me all this for free."

"Ya go and get da pretty _Pearl_, Jack, and if ya do ever-ting I saw ya do, it be enough for me," she said, stroking his cheek. "Dis be da best way."

"Gibbs, take the longboat and go back to the ship." He'd failed to name that boat they had taken from Anamaria in hopes they would not need it for long. "Go back to Tortuga and wait for me. See if you can find out any more information about Barbossa, where he's been, the blood situation, as it were. If I'm not there within the week, send for Gabriel or Anamaria. Tell them the only way we'll compensate them for our thievery is if one of them comes and picks me up. Norrington's too smart to miss me, so it will be one of the most narrow escapes in my whole career. Are you listening?"

"Aye, Jack. But are you sure…"

"It's the _Pearl_, Gibbs, the _Pearl_! _È troppo buono da passare in su! Oh, per per vedere lo sguardo sul suo fronte. _Go on to Tortuga."

"It's just that we've tried to find Falkenburg for so long. He may be old and then we ain't got a lot of time left. And what becomes of the hide if he dies?"

"You heard the goddess. Everything will work out." Jack did listen to himself, in spite of what anyone else might have thought, and if one were to ask him about that day, he would honestly say that he didn't care that none of it made sense. It was an opportune moment, and for better or worse, he had to take it.

XXX

Rigging up the little ship by himself proved more difficult than he thought it would be, but even the hardest parts seemed more like labors of love than menial tasks. There would be a lot of people to see once he took the helm of the _Pearl _and commanded a veritable posse of a crew on it. Not Barbossa, of course, because he'd be dead, but there were so many other people. He'd grown so tired of carrying two pistols with him, one never even being used. Ah well, he thought, and emptied the bullets out of his pistol and tossed it overboard. There would be no room for excess now. Who else would he take special care to see? Teague, especially Teague. He growled at the name and recalled their last get-together last year.

_"Well, well, isn't this a sight for sore eyes?" Jack chuckled, stopping at one particular cell in the French jail._

_Teague, face more wrinkled and pocked than ever, stretched his head and rolled his eyes at Jack. "Come to mock me, boy, or did ye come all the way to France for the crepes?"_

_"Both, actually. I just couldn't resist coming and seeing you when I heard the marvelous, magnificent Captain Teague had been caught."_

_"Don't get used to it, Jackie. You know I won't be in here for long."_

_"Be that as it may, its fleeting nature makes it all that much more pleasurable."_

_Teague stood, still a head taller than Jack, and loomed over him in spite of the bars between them. Taking a step back, Jack sighed at such his own childish reaction and stepped back to his original spot, making sure his Piece of Eight glistened in the single ray of light shining from the slit of a window in the cell._

_"So now you look the part of a pirate lord at least," Teague sighed. "Might want to be thinkin' of a successor now. It's funny. Had you waited long enough, I would have given that to you of me own free will." He shook his head, tapping the bars with his fingers. "But you never were one that could just listen to what other people wanted to do, always had to take the lead, come hell or high water."_

_"How's Mum?" Jack asked with hard eyes, not caring if the blow injured himself as well._

_He jumped back from Teague's arm, stretched through the bars, swiping at him. Older than they were when he was a child, those arms still had the strength of a mother bear prowling the woods, itching to maul an intruder._

_"Found her, no thanks to you. Why don't you quit taunting me and go back to your pirating?"_

_"Aw, that hurts, Teague. I thought you'd want to catch up. Might I inquire as to how you were caught, or would it injure your pride? I'd hate to hurt the last thing you have left."_

_He dodged another swipe._

_"Listen to me, Jackie. I know you and me ain't the closest, but you got to listen to me when it comes to that Piece of Eight. You got to! What your mum wanted for you is over. You're a pirate now, just like me and you fail to see just how much mine you really are. Don't scoff at me, boy. That tongue you curse me with? That's mine. Even those eyes you're judging me with are mine, blacker than any eyes I ever saw, even as a baby. Your mum and me thought we had some magic kid in our midst. Well, being a pirate lord is as close to magic as can be hoped for. You guard that Piece of Eight, you hear me? Do your mum and me a favor."_

_"And what is that?"_

_"Settle down! Not completely, but a little bit. Get married, find an heir for that thing."_

_"I'm reminded of a man I used to sail with," Jack said, his breathing growing shallow, his nostrils flaring. "He had a wife and a family and you know what happened? He went off to Davy Jones and no one even knew where in England his family was to tell them what happened to him. Sorry lot, the Turner family, never seein' one another. That kid must hate his father. And you want me to go and do the same thing?"_

_"I'm reminded of a story myself," Teague snapped. "Sailor went out all the time, years passed. Well, he came back home one day and found his lover and their babes slaughtered by pirates. So overcome by guilt that he didn't marry the wench and make her respectable, he cut off her head and carried around in a chest with him until the end of his days."_

_"You never married Mum."_

_"And she's dead now, isn't she? Listen to me on this one, Jackie. Find a wife, have a kid or two, and pirate on the side. Be as sly about it as can be. That Piece of Eight's got to go to somebody if the redcoats get hold of ye."_

_"Give Mum me love," Jack said and marched out of the jail._

Jack woke from his memories at the sensation of water rubbing his trousers. Looking down, he sprang up and climbed up the mast to escape the rising water in the shoddy excuse for a ship.

**A/N: Things will start to seem a little more familiar now. Thank you, everyone that has left reviews, but I really must demand more. They are the sweet dessert of and willo has quite the sweet tooth. Oh, and I do not own POTC.**


	14. Destiny

"You can keep doing that all you want. That dog is never going to move."

"Excuse us if we ain't resigned ourselves to the gallows just yet."

Shaking his head, Jack stared at the straw-covered stone beneath him, grimacing at the stench of mold and piss mixed into an odoriferous union more unholy than Davy Jones and Tia Dalma. Tia Dalma—wretched creature, sending him out here. All Port Royal managed to do for him was throw him in this rank cell. The medallion, he reminded himself, narrowing his eyebrows in thought. Barbossa would surely come for it since it had hit the water. He shivered, remembering the face just above the little death's head carved into the gold. He had seen eyes like Miss Swann's before, but never on a woman's face. They were eyes that bore a cool resolve, leading down to a pistol pointing right at a challenger in a duel. Something about those kind of eyes belonging to her…unsettling was what it was.

Unknotting the string that held his Piece of Eight to his hair, he scratched a white notch into the stone floor, followed by an identical one next to it. To assume the boy wasn't Bill's was too much. The jaw, the cheeks-- everything was the same, right down to the insistence on nobility that seemed to make all Turner men slightly stupid.

So, he thought, forcing his mind's gears to turn in spite of the beginnings of a headache tapping on his forehead. Bill sent his share of the "treasure" home to the little one and now Miss Elizabeth Swann had it dangling from her pretty neck. The boy, just call him William for now, Jack thought, make it easy on yourself. The boy and Elizabeth, sorry, love, no time for formalities, knew each other. He marked a line between the two notches on the floor and added a circle over the second notch to indicate the medallion.

All right, he sighed, feeling an immense weight lifted off his back, still knowing he hadn't really solved anything. Did William know what the medallion was when he got it? Odds are, if he gave it to Elizabeth, he did not. Bill wouldn't have had time to write a letter explaining its importance, and even if he did, Jack never remembered Bill saying whether or not his family knew about when the legitimate _Wench _became the pirate-filled _Pearl _and explaining the Aztec gold would require explaining the nature of finding said Aztec gold. No. William has no idea what it is.

Which brings us to the exchange, Jack thought, burning a hole into the floor with his eyes. For it to switch hands, William either gave it to Elizabeth or she took it. A blacksmith apprentice and the only child of a governor, albeit Governor Swann, seemed so unlikely. Even less likely was the notion that William would give such a mysterious gift from his father that he never saw to a girl. Jack grinned. Perhaps Elizabeth had an eye for all things shiny and swiped it at an opportune time.

Knowing there was always the possibility of being wrong, he stretched out his hands to smear away the notches. Just when he took a breath and prepared his mind to deduce further, a sound thundered from the distance.

Everyone ran to their little windows, meeting the faint blue rays of the moonlight. Couldn't be true, he thought. Another boom deafened the jail.

"I know those guns," he said to himself and ran to his own window. There, silhouetted against the ebony water and a sapphire sky, the _Black Pearl _glided through the smoke of its own guns, making its way to the dock.

"It's the _Pearl_," he breathed, aching at the numerous holes scattered throughout her massive sails. Too far to see which traitor was at the helm, he gritted his teeth. Mum told him the story of Tantalus only once, a foolish bugger whose eternal punishment consisted of reaching out for food and water, eternally just beyond his grasp. Barbossa had come for the medallion.

"The _Black Pearl_? I've heard stories," a shaggy prisoner next to him said. "She's been preying on ships and settlements for near ten years and never leaves any survivors."

"No survivors? Then where do the stories come from, I wonder?" While seeing that mutinous bastard captain his ship stung more than anything, being surrounded by useless twits acted as the salt being poured into his wounds. Now, the shadows of the men emerged from the ship, shots and torch flames accompanying them.

Look-but-do-not-touch came to Jack's mind.

A deep boom seemed to fly right past him. When the smoke cleared, a hole just large enough for a grown man to squat his way through appeared in the next cell.

"My sympathies, friend. You've not manner of luck at all," he heard one of them say, the lot squeezing through their hole and on their way to freedom.

I'll kill her, Jack thought, his eyes darting to and fro. I'll kill Tia. Leave it to her to say I'd find the _Pearl _but would lose her again. Grabbing the bone the idiots dangled out in front of them earlier, he whistled and tapped the bone against the metal bars.

"Come on, doggy. Just you and me now. It's you and old Jack. Come on! Good boy! That's a good boy!" The mutt with the keys clenched in its mouth cocked its head and took reluctant steps towards Jack. "That's it! Come on, you filthy, slimy, mangy cur. No! No, no, no. I didn't mean it! I didn't…"

He stopped upon hearing the same crash that sent the dog trotting away from the cell. Down the small corridor, his eyes hardened at the familiar faces there. Koehler, cold-blood Koehler, and simple Twigg, looking exactly the same as they did that night Ragetti, probably the loser in a game of drawing lots, knocked on the captain's door and invited him to a mutiny.

"This ain't the armory," Twigg said.

"Well, well, well," Koehler said, his little tour of the building at an end. "Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Last time I saw you," Twigg spit, "you were all alone on a god-forsaken island, shrinking into the distance. His fortunes aren't much improved."

Twigg, I got more intercourse in my mind on that island than you will your whole life, he thought, but decided on more careful words.

"Worry about your own fortunes, gentlemen. The deepest circle of hell is reserved for traitors and mutineers." He smirked, waiting for them to brainstorm between the two of them some crushing verbal blow. Instead, Koehler reached through the bars with clawed fingers. Dodging back, a force of habit when one was John Teague's son, Jack noticed the dark skin of Koehler's arm seem to peel back in the moonlight, leaving a white bone with tattered rags encasing it. Pink bumps of flesh still clung to the bone, a bracelet or two about to slip from the wrist that was hardly there.

"So there is a curse. That's interesting."

"You know nothing of hell." Koehler's eyes showed no emotion at the statement. Rage and frustration filled them up until there was no room for even a slight sparkle. Pulling his arm back through, he nodded to Twigg and gave a last sneer at Jack before they left.

"That's very interesting."

XXX

Jack awoke to a warm sun creeping up on his closed eyes. It all could have been a dream, seeing the _Pearl_, having estranged, undead crewmen threaten him despite their lack of skin. Standing and taking a hopeful look out the window, Jack shook his head. The _Pearl _hadn't stayed docked for long, but it had been there and left its mark on the townspeople. Faint blurs of people re-thatching their roofs and gathering shrapnel off the streets proved the _Pearl _had been there. Across the harbor, large schooners waded in the water, the wind acting more like a collective sigh of relief that they had not been harmed in the rioting.

"Please," he grunted, picking the bone back up and working the smaller end into the lock.

"You. Sparrow."

Jack scooted back and lay on the floor at the voice, pushing his hair to the side in case it brushed up against the questionable straw. "Aye," he said with a light air. He bit the inside of his cheeks when Bill's son approached the cell. The face may not have been a spitting image, but the manner, the way he carried himself, channeled Bill out of the Locker or wherever he was and placed him in front of this cell at this moment.

"You are familiar with that ship? The _Black Pearl_?"

"I've heard of it."

"Where does it make berth?"

"Where does it make berth? Have you not heard the stories?" he sighed. "Captain Barbossa and his crew of miscreants sail from the dreaded Isla de Muerta. It's an island that cannot be found except by those who already know what it is." And once upon a time, they left their good captain at a fledgling island and sailed straight into damnation. By now that island probably had some plant life on it, maybe an animal or two. But he cringed at remembering that entire ordeal.

"The ship is real enough. Therefore its anchorage must be a real place. Where is it?"

"Why ask me?" Jack kept his own speech short, making sure it sounded more slurred than it usually did. Ask me the right questions, boy.

"Because you're a pirate."  
It took energy to not wince at the disdain with which the boy spoke the sentence. You've bitten off more than you can chew if you think you're going to outdo me. "And you want to turn pirate yourself, is that it?"

"Never!" The boy blurted. "They've taken Miss Swann."

Of course. They were about the same age. Laughing inside, Jack wished to see Barbossa's face when the awful truth would come to be known that Bill had a son and not a daughter. Ah well. If Elizabeth was smart, she would play along with the idea for as long as she could.

"Oh. So it is that you've found a girl. Well, if you're intending to brave all, hasten to her rescue, and so win fair lady's heart, you have to do it alone, mate. I see no profit in it for me." He watched the boy's face try to hide the rapidity of thought going on behind it. Turner men were slightly stupid, but they were sharper than anyone else in most circumstances. This boy would not disappoint.

"I can get you out of here."

"How's that?" Jack asked, sincerely interested. "The key's run off." He had assumed a bargain of some kind, not a full-fledged escape.

"I helped build these cells. These are pin-barrel hinges." He turned and placed a bench in front of the bars. "With the right leverage and the proper application of strength, the door will lift free." He stood on the bench but made no move for the door, waiting for Jack to respond.

"What's your name?"

"Will Turner."

Jack tightened his fists, concentrating on the strain so as not to grin. "That'd be short for William, I'd imagine. Good strong name. No doubt named for your father, eh?" He made a face at that. That sounded so forced.

"Yes." William was looking at him, a wrinkled brow trying to form a question. Bugger! He knew it had sounded forced. Change the subject. Change the subject.

"Well, Mr. Turner, I've changed me mind. If you spring me from this cell, I swear on pain of death, I shall take you to the _Black Pearl _and your bonny lass. Do we have an accord?" He stuck his hand out between the bars, his lace brushing past them. Don't you worry, Bill, he told himself. Nothing's going to happen to your boy. Not while I'm with him.

"Agreed." It was as if it were Bill's hand sliding through and taking his in a firm shake. Jack glanced down at their joined hands, feeling a rush of energy, feeling like he knew how that first sparrow he saw when he was a boy felt, free to roam the sky. Somehow, William Turner and Elizabeth Swann would be his destiny.

**A/N: Okay, I'm sure some of you are disappointed I didn't include the scenes where Jack meets Elizabeth or Will. Well...1.) This isn't the end of the story, not by a long shot and 2.) At the time, the meetings themselves weren't all that significant to him. I promise some really exciting things are about to happen. Please leave reviews. I've enabled my story to accept anonymous reviews, so if you have been following along and were not able to post anything, now is your chance! Just remember, I did not invent Jack, Ragetti's eye, the little monkey's vest, Sao's fingernails, or the mysterious bruises on Tia Dalma's neck. Disney owns POTC...even the stuff that isn't so "Disney."**


	15. Surviving Isolation with the Bonny Lass

"I'd have to have a lot more to drink."

"How much more?"

Elizabeth gave him a challenging look and took a swig from the bottle. She held it out to him, her arm locked and exactly perpendicular to the sand-covered ground. Jack guzzled down as much as his mouth would allow him before swallowing it with a satisfied sigh. If the little lass thought she could out drink him, the heat must be taking its toll on her.

"You said we had a month, maybe more?" she asked.

"Aye, provided we boil our water and find enough food." Being back here, Jack glared at the horizon, imagining the _Pearl _staring him down, Barbossa at the forecastle with his spyglass, waving at him with that scurvy grin. He shivered in spite of the heat. Standing, he marched into the brush.

"Are you going to find food?" Elizabeth asked, running after him, the bottle still in her hand. She handed it to him and climbed atop a bent-over palm tree, arched just enough to reach the top of another one still fortunate enough to stand straight. She extended her arms and shuffled across the trunk, letting her arms fall in front of her against the straight tree's trunk.

"Cut your feet that way," he warned.

"Aren't there fruits on palm trees?" she called down to him, slightly out of breath. "I'm sure not even you can inhale nothing but rum."

"If that's a bet…" he called back up to her, setting the bottle down next to him. He came closer to the tree trunk as Elizabeth climbed higher.

"Oh! I found one!" she squealed. Jack could only see her holding something to her chest with one arm while jerking something with the other. "If I come down with it, will you take it back to the beach?"

"Just drop it down."

A scratchy ball that looked like it was covered in twine fell a few feet from him. He gathered it to him, inspecting it. "They look good. Are there any more?"

"Loads of them!" she laughed.

"Shake the branch!"

"What?"

"Shake the branch, love! Some of them might come down on their own!"

A half dozen coconuts plummeted to the ground after a harsh rustling. Each one fit well in Jack's hands, about the size of a small child's head. About to count them a second time, he heard a snap above him.

"You all right up there?"

"Just coming down," she said, her voice strained. She finally came into view, her shift stained in a few places, her feet miraculously uncut. She pulled her body back to the arched tree trunk, straddling it this time instead of standing on it. Somewhere between sliding and scooting, she reached the middle of the trunk before losing her balance.

"Hold still," Jack said, setting the coconuts next to the bottle. Holding out his arms, he waited for her to pull herself up. "Just jump down."

"I'm not as mad as you are, Captain Sparrow."

"Just jump, darling. You're close enough to the ground as it is."

Elizabeth sighed and let go, hitting the sand with a thud. Dusting herself off, she picked up a few of the coconuts. "How do you eat these?"

"You open them up," he said. "But these won't last long." He was about to ask her if there were anymore up there that looked ripe, but it was emasculating enough that she had been the one to learn that answer. "You stay in the shade and I'll forage some more."

"Actually, wouldn't it be best for you to build a fire?" Jack raised his eyebrow at her. Who among us has been marooned before, he wanted to say, but that wasn't really a qualifier that made someone a better leader than the other. That, and a fire should really get going before dark when the wind would pick up. "I could gather some more food. I'm afraid I don't know how to make a fire."

Only nodding, Jack took the rest of the coconuts from her and began his way back out to the beach. Dumping them into a pile, he broke off two twigs from the brush and positioned them.

"Don't forget your rum," Elizabeth said, strolling past him and into the water. Already up to her waist in ocean, she ducked down and disappeared under the water. Jack kept working on the fire, knowing that gunpowder might prove a great asset, but at the same time, knew it might prove a great waste of one bullet. Besides, that cankerous fustilarian that posed as a ship captain needed this bullet, had needed it for ten years.

At last, after a few crackles, a flame emitted from the twigs. Jack took another drink of rum, nodding his head. The girl may have had the foresight and presence of mind to know to gather food, but without fire, food, water, and even shelter wouldn't keep them alive on this rock for too long. The rum tasted even better now, the way its sweetness tickled one's throat on the way down. Maybe this time the heat wouldn't feed off of him. Maybe this time, now that the fruit was ripe and more brush had grown, it could be quite a comfortable wasteland until a ship came, and that ship would not be the _Dutchman_. He opened his compass, letting it spin before it settled on pointing due east. Well, that effectively pointed out the location of that key, or was it the _Pearl _that was out that way? No, it would be on its way back to Isla de Muerta, so it had to be the key. Splendid. Somewhere due east was the key to the chest that would save his soul.

And here he was depending on that plucky vixen to bring back dinner.

His head snapped towards the direction of the water, searching for any sign of her. She emerged with her arms full of something he couldn't decipher, the seaweed encasing it.

"Here," she panted, letting her arms fall. "Oysters. I see you got a fire going." She plopped to the ground and opened another bottle of rum.

Jack grimaced at the shells down below him, his lips curling into a deep frown. Just the thought of it made his nose and forehead wrinkle.

"I didn't know I was to find food that was specifically to your liking," she grunted.

"It's not that," he said, still looking at the oysters. It was like watching a house fire, so terrible it demanded one's attention. "It's May."

"May?"

"Yes, see." He bent down and picked one of them up. "Even cooked these won't be the oysters you're used to. When there's no R in the month, they'll make ye sick."

"Sick how?"

"Well, I won't go into details," he said, a mischievous grin forming on his face, "but I've had one too many sailors under me command complain about some other poor sot's 'spillage.' What made it so unique from the usual brushes with seasickness is the particular end of the body this spillage likes to, well, spill from. Needless to say, on top of all the dead fish around, we don't need that kind of smell keeping us company, savvy?"

Elizabeth frowned and stared out into the sea, pouting her lips.

"Unless you want to take the risk, but we have enough elements going against our favor."

"I'm sure there are thousands of people who would be more useful," she whispered, tapping the bottle in frustration. "You might have told me before I wasted all that time when I could have found us something else."

"Relax, love. No one said you were useless. You're able to sail and good in a fight. Trust me when I say that the only way you could be absolutely, most assuredly useless is if you were to go all hysterical and scream we were about to die. Nothin' could be done with ye if you carried on like that. Polish off one of those bottles with me and we can have some water to boil."

A tight laugh escaped from her as she tipped the bottle upside down, letting the contents pour onto the sand.

"Or I'll take it for me self, seeing as how ye can't be trusted with it!" he yelled, snatching the bottle from her and taking a deep swig. "I would have thought a governor's daughter would have an appreciation for the finer things in life."

"Captain Sparrow, show me how to eat this fruit and I promise I'll be more conservative with the rum." She pulled her legs into her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

"Call me Jack."

Not hearing his name repeated by her, he sat next to her and opened up a coconut. She followed suit, ravenously inhaling the contents. Before he could reach for the bottle to wash down the milky substance, she beat him to it and took a loud sip of rum. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she took a breath and dove back into it, and from the sounds of it, drained it better than any dark creature associated with vampirism ever could have. He smirked at the meal before them, the sun beginning to sink below the horizon line. Yes, now was the time to have a good fire going, he thought. Oh wait, he did have one going. His smirk grew. All they needed was a few thin candles and a silk tablecloth with some cellists in the background and it would surpass any nobleman's dinner. Ah, he remembered. Speaking of music…

"You know, Lizzie, probably the best way to survive maroon-ment is to find ways to pass the time."

"I'm not sleeping with you, Captain Sparrow."

His back jerked and he spit out the rum he had just let splash into his mouth. "No one asked you to!" he blurted, wiping his chin with his sleeve. She certainly was full of surprises. It was the last thing he had expected to come out of that mouth of hers, although now that the image was in his mind, it was most decidedly not a disagreeable prospect. "I just wanted to hear your song."

"That?" Elizabeth asked, putting the bottle down. "I told you I would need more to drink."

"That can be arranged." He stood and took another bottle out of the hiding place. Bringing it back, he sat it next to the one they already opened. "Have as much as you deem necessary."

"Do you think your crew is all right?"

His eyes widened. How she transitioned from mentioning love-making to checking on crewmen's wellbeing, he would never figure out.

"They're fine, I expect. Gibbs is with them, and if in the rare event he doesn't know what to do, Anamaria is with them, too."

"Is she another one of your conquests?"

"You're not nearly as innocent as you act sometimes, are you?" he asked. Wise of her not to answer. "No, she is not."

"Really?" She sat up straighter, her hands resting on her knees. "Why not?" She pushed the bottle closer to him, where he took another sip.

"It's not really a topic of discussion, love."

"Please?"

"I'll tell you what," Jack said. "Teach me your little song and I'll tell ye."

She cleared her throat. "Well," she said after one last ahem, "The chorus is simply 'yo ho, yo ho a pirate's life for me.' Then there are all these verses. Let's see…we pillage, we plunder/we rifle and loot/drink up, me hearties, yo ho/we kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot/drink up, me hearties, yo ho."

Jack repeated the verse, taking a drink after he finished. As much as he had needed to memorize, learning a simple song would take no time, much to his dismay. Maybe there were several more verses. He ran over the lyrics in his head one more time before swallowing.

"Where did you learn that?"

"My mother taught it to me before she died. Now, enough stalling. You promised me."

Forgive me, Anamaria, but I never promised you and I did promise this bonny thing I would tell her, he told himself.

"Let's just say I'm not Anamaria's type."

"Now if you're going to be that vague about everything, I see no point in continuing," Elizabeth challenged, taking a drink. They certainly weren't finishing off this bottle very quickly, Jack thought. As tiny as her body was, she had to be feeling the rum working its magic in her, but he still felt no different. That was the only side effect to enjoying the drink—experience worked against you. He paused in his anecdote long enough to down the rest of it and work on opening the second bottle.

"Fine, curious little viper. It's not for ladies' ears, but who are we kidding with that, since we've already discussed the topic of fornication so delicately? Well, it was like this, ye see. Me and Gibbs are spendin' some time with lovely Anamaria and her brother and I'm not at all opposed to making her a 'conquest,' to quote you, so one day, I walked into her cabin without knocking." He paused to see her eyes widen. He remembered when his mother's stories got too raunchy for child's ears at times and he would give her that look, the look that told her he knew he was being naughty by listening but it didn't change the fact he wanted to hear the rest. "Do you know what I saw?"

"I have no idea. I suppose you saw her."

"That I did. I saw her, and a companion of hers…a lady companion." Now, that's the kind of tale a well-trained governess should not have told you, he thought, looking at her. Her cheeks blushed, the growing fire not helping the matter. "More of the song, if you please."

"Oh, oh yes. Um, we did the first verse. You should sing that to make sure you didn't forget it."

"Just one moment, darling. I sound better when my throat's not so dry," he laughed, taking the first drink out of the new bottle. He sang the first verse and the chorus back to her, and memorized the second verse as she sang it. "We kindle and char/inflame and ignite/drink up, me hearties, yo ho/we burn up the city/we're really a fright/drink up me hearties, yo ho!"

"You are a quick study, Captain Sparrow," Elizabeth said, dangling the bottle in front of her. "But you know I get to ask you more questions."

"Just you ask away. It's a delightful little tune."

"When did you become a pirate?"

"You mean in all you read that never came up? Tsk tsk. The stories bypass my better years." Jack stood and paced behind her, the rum loosening his tongue more than he wanted it to. If one were to ask Captain Jack Sparrow why he preferred to drink alone, that was the answer. "It was a long, long time ago, darling. I was…can't remember that, but it was back when me _Pearl _was the _Wicked Wench _and I pissed off a lot of people."

That bottle in her hand looked better and better the more he paced. Finally, he jumped down to the spot right behind her and threw his arms over her, wrenching it out of her grasp. He ignored her surprised laughs, letting her shoulders bear the weight of his arms. Gulping it down, he held it in front of her face and tapped it against her lips.

"If you insist," she said, taking the bottle back and holding it.

"But ye know, I didn't always want to be a pirate, no. When I was your age, I was just a sailor, just makin' me way in the world. Nobody thought I'd turn out to be a pirate. Not me. Little me was just your average stupid kid. Know what I wanted to be when I was a little boy? I wanted to be a bird! Now…" he leaned over her, his arm around her. "There anymore verses to that ditty?"

"Um…" she trailed off, wiggling in his embrace, but he held onto her waist. "We're rascals and scoundrels/and villains and knaves/drink up, me hearties yo ho/we're devils and black sheep/and really bad eggs/drink up, me hearties, yo ho!"

"Is that it?"

"That's it, I'm afraid," Elizabeth said, freeing herself from him and standing up. "You should sing all of it now. But first…" she tapped the bottle in his hand and ran off to get one for herself. "You've been keeping all of it to yourself."

"How selfish. I do apologize." He cleared his throat and belted out the song by the fire, bowing after he finished. She clapped her hands and played with her bottle until he picked her up and began singing it again. And if one were to ask Captain Jack Sparrow how much he remembered of that night when Elizabeth Swann burned all his rum, he would honestly tell you he didn't know anything past that point.

**A/N: I do not own POTC, just love it, love it like Mork loves Mindy. So now you know why Anamaria chased Jack out of her ship. **


	16. Beyond the Horizon

Back in jail, back smelling mildew and sweat without any reprieve whatsoever, Jack sniffed at the air without thinking, grimacing at the, ahem, odiferous charm of the place. Two armed guards paced back and forth at the end of the corridor, ready to drive their bayonets into anyone channeling young Will Turner, who could do clever things with metal. They probably wouldn't even let Will in, Jack thought, letting his arms rest on the slots between the bars, unless dear Bill Turner's son's talent exceeded everyone's expectations and he barged in with a sword forged by Vulcan that burned through these bars and left a bubbling pool of melted steel on the floor.

"Jack?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him, her hair pulled back from her face and pinned up almost as much as she was, Jack observed. The soft periwinkle dress just looked uncomfortable, even though he could tell it did not come with a corset. The girl had learned her lesson.

"Come to join me, love?"

"Jack," she said, her fingertips grazing the cold bars. "I wish I had come with better news."

"So you haven't heard from William then?" The look on her face answered him for her. He glanced down at the floor.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "Will will find Mr. Gibbs, I know it, and when he does, they'll bring the _Pearl _here for your escape. It takes a long time to get to Tortuga and find a person, I suspect. He'll come back, Jack. It's not too late."

"I'd rather you'd have just said you had a hacksaw hidden in those skirts somewhere and you felt obliged to help me saw me way out of here."

"He'll come. We're not about to let them go through with this, not while we can save you." Her hand grasped his through the bars, clenching it. His forehead leaned down on one of the bars, watching her, wondering if the guards would come running if he pulled her to him and kissed those lips he'd noticed had a tendency to pout out no matter what she was feeling—fear, determination, amusement, concern. He had wanted to before, on the _Dauntless. _She'd looked deeper into his eyes than anyone had for a long time. The mist circling around her, her boy clothes charming, the fact she called him Jack for the first time—it had taken too much energy to keep his eyes off her.

She broke away from him, her hand dropping to her side. "Although I'm sure it's disheartening to have to depend on Mr. Gibbs."

"Don't be too hard on him," Jack said. "He always comes through for me. The _Pearl_'s rather gifted when it comes to seduction. He'll get over his passing fancy."

If he died on land, would Davy Jones still have charge over his soul? Maybe I should just go ahead and let them hang me. And die a prisoner? Be martyred by wig-sporting peacocks? Shame on you, Jackie. He could hear Teague's hard snicker at those thoughts. But if he lived…if he lived he only had about one more year to find that damn bloody key. _Impresa impossibile_, he thought. He made sure to look back at Elizabeth, lest she think it was the noose he feared.

"And what about the other man in your life?" he asked with a scolding tone. She would know what he meant.

"James? Jack, I've pled your case day after day!" Once again, that fight, that cold, vengeful fire in her eyes surfaced, only to fade back to the soft glitter they had before. "He and Father both think that by hanging you, they'll set a precedent."

"Am I so important?" he laughed. "I thought you had that man wrapped around your little finger."

Elizabeth flushed at the phrase, her mouth dropping open with a small pout Jack was finding more and more irresistible. A clever rum-burner like her could make a man do whatever she wanted if she would just use her imagination. Shut up, you, he scolded himself. She's not some whore. She wants to do this the honest way. Yes, as honest as promising herself to a man she doesn't love. Well…just because she wants to be honest doesn't mean she's all that good at it.

"Goodbye, Jack."

"No, no, no. Wait." He slid his arm through the bars and gripped her arm. Her face immediately flew to the two guards, probably taking tentative steps to this cell.

"Elizabeth?" Governor Swann's voice echoed back to them. She brought that oaf with her? "Is everything all right?"

"Fine! Just forgot to give him Will's note!" she lied, calling back, waving her hand at them to lower their weapons. She spun back to him with a cold stare. "Behavior like that will get you hanged faster than you think around here. The least you can do is stay out of trouble until Will returns with the _Pearl _and your crew."

"Lizzie, you have to accept the possibility that Will may not come back in time." He said it slowly, hoping she wouldn't take it the wrong way. It wasn't that he distrusted Bill's son. No. But blind faith was a foolish thing for anyone to have.

"Don't you trust him?"

"Love, I've trusted a lot of people over the years. People fail." You failed, he told himself. Mum dead, Trini dead, Bill languishing on the _Dutchman_, with Jack about to join him if the tides didn't turn, no less, and all he had to show for it was a dead Barbossa, expiring in some forgotten cave. It would just about break his heart if Gibbs didn't come back, and if Will went against him for any reason…

"Will won't fail you," Elizabeth whispered to him. "I'll be there tomorrow and you'll see. You weren't meant to die on the gallows." She locked eyes with him, shaking her head at her own speechlessness. "I should go."

Hitching up her skirts, she took a step back from the cell, tears swelling behind her eyes that were not allowed to fall, not now. Cad, he thought, parting with her this way. She reminded him so much of himself, ridden with guilt and despising herself for her decisions, even if those decisions were the only things she could have done. He summoned a grin on his face and waited for his eyes to dance.

"Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?"

Elizabeth turned back to him, stifling a grin of her own. Finally, she unleashed a laugh and came back to him. He joined her in a laugh, already missing that sound. Speak-again-bright-angel came to mind, but he quelled it, content to share a light moment with her…a light, sober moment with her. She bent down and kissed his knuckles. They turned white from clinging to the bar, tensing at the sensation. Returning her sad smile to her face, she stepped back from him and made her way down the corridor, refusing to look back at him. That either meant she didn't care or that she didn't want him to see her face, and judging by the way her shoulders trembled, he guessed she didn't want him to see her cry.

XXX

Miserable cockswain should have said "captain." Jack muttered it, not sure if even the spectators sadistic enough to find places to stand closest to the gallows heard him. "…the most egregious of these to be cited herewith: piracy, smuggling, impersonating an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of England…"

Ah, yes. That was how he met Gibbs, he remembered with a short laugh. Bloody cur if he isn't here.

He wondered how word of his death might reach Davy Jones, if the barbarous codpiece would chuckle at the irony or if he would consider Jack to have had the last laugh after all? Unless you can be sent to the Locker even if you die on land. He made a deep inhale at that thought, taking the time to spot Elizabeth in the crowd, speaking to Norrington with steely eyes, like she was challenging him to a duel.

"May God have mercy on your soul."

Why now did the clearest image of Bill's face come to mind?

It was a quick drop, and even with a foothold he could feel the pressure on his neck. Foothold? His feet latched onto the sword underneath him, still wobbling from the effect of being thrown. In front of him, Will approached him, cutting his bonds and leading him to the end of the fort. No thoughts rushed through his head, only the primitive instinct to take down whatever stood in his way. Almost to the end, he could finally see Will, practically in a dance with him as they made their escape. Just a few more steps and he could dive over the edge into the water. Maybe the kid would come with him, seeing as the honorable sod saw fit to commit yet another criminal act. Good in a fight, quick thinker—if anyone could help him find the key, William Turner could.

But every way he looked, red coat over red coat loomed over them, swords drawn. He almost bumped into Will.

Bugger.

"I thought we might have to endure some manner of ill-conceived escape attempt but not from you."

Was that loathsome creature referring to him? Jack cocked his head, only for the feather in Will's hat to tickle his face. Oh. Well then, at least the gallows wouldn't feel so lonely.

"On our return to Port Royal , I granted you clemency. And this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with him?" Governor Swann sputtered. Jack scoffed at the remark. The situation called for a little more than an "I'm very disappointed in you," admonishment. No wonder Lizzie was such a rebel. "He's a pirate!"

"And a good man!"

Jack felt like he'd received a good kick in the ribs. To hear him say that, to hear Bill's little boy say that…but not in front of Norrington and all his pirate-hunting henchmen. He never thought he'd have to tell the kid to always seem a tad meaner than one truly was. There would be a lot for him to learn if he was going to come back with him.

"If all I have achieved here is that the hangman will earn two pairs of boots instead of one, so be it. At least my conscience will be clear."

"You forget your place, Turner."

"It's right here, between you and Jack."

Elizabeth rushed over to them, shoving her way past the officers and held Will's arm. "As is mine."

The rest of the conversation sounded like no more than a muted song playing in a faraway room at the sight of that bloody parrot, perched so casually. It flew back towards the horizon, out onto a sparkling sea where adventure and the _Pearl _awaited it. A sparrow should most definitely join it in such a venture.

Letting the words flow and his body fall back, Jack plunged into the water, black sails waving at him, beckoning him to swim as far as was required to reach them. No swim felt more refreshing in his life, the memory of the rough rope around his neck lodged to the back of his head with every stroke. At last, Gibbs' smiling face greeted him. They pulled him on board, the wood on the deck seeming to embrace him.

"I thought you were supposed to keep to the Code," Jack said, inspecting the masts and the helm with disbelieving eyes.

"We figured they were more actual guidelines," Gibbs explained, clapping his hands together. No doubt the promise of acting as first mate on such a ship came to mind.

Jack took the helm of the _Pearl_, feeling the power and the elegance of her gel into him. Dizzy with adrenaline, he opened his compass, watching it spin a full circle once as it always did, then slow until it detected the direction of his heart's desire. Catching himself humming that ridiculously silly and yet fitting song, his face unleashed a bright smile when he saw where the arrow stopped.

"And really bad eggs/Drink up, me hearties, yo ho."  
There was still that pesky key to find, and he suspected problem after problem would arise, but at this moment, he could sing like a sparrow should sing. He hadn't sung in years, but now he seemed to be singing quite a bit. Well, there was much that warranted singing.

**A/N: Don't worry. We're not at the end yet. Some of Jack's greatest adventures are yet to come. Please leave reviews and tell me what you think. I'll just be sitting here with my rum...**


	17. Hurricane Norrington

Constantinople—the name itself sparked hope in Jack's mind. Transfixed by the circled city on his charts, he blinked a few times before he noticed chunks of rain blotting them. Pulling his coat up over his head, he called Gibbs over to him while he arched his back to loom over his hard work.

"Aye?"

"This is where we're going."

"I know."

"No. This is where we're going," Jack said, pointing to the circle on the charts. "You see what I mean now so I can roll up these charts before they get water-logged?"

"You found the exact prison! Good work!" Gibbs patted him. "We're not more than three days from there, maybe less if we sail out of this rain. Sorry sot, that Falkenburg. Had a Greek tell me a while back the man's been in there for a full year, and he holds the record for being the one that's been there the longest." He crossed himself. "I tell you, this couldn't be a more dangerous mission if Scylla followed us the whole way."

"Ship off in the distance, Captain," Marty said, approaching them and handing a spyglass up to Jack. "Navy colors."

Jack closed one eye and peered through the tiny lens.

"Bugger." He let the spyglass crash to the deck and ran up the steps to the helm. "Mr. Gibbs! See to the guns and wait for my signal!"

"What is it, Jack? What did ye see?"

"Norrington!"

The _Dauntless _poked through the rain like an actor making his entrance through a stage curtain. Its waves crashed onto the deck of the _Pearl_, their rudders almost touching. Jack spun the helm, sending the bowsprit straight for Norrington's ship. The ships were almost perpendicular before the guns of the _Dauntless _fired, the _Pearl _just dodging them.

"Mr. Gibbs wants to know if now is the right time," Leech gasped, panting on his way up the steps to the helm.

"Not yet. Tell him to stand down."

"Stand down!" Leech shrieked down to the gun ports.

"This is a message to the crew of the _Black Pearl._" Norrington's voice boomed over to them. "All of you have the potential to live through your prison terms. If you desert Sparrow now, you will be treated fairly and mercifully in the Port Royal courts."

"Fair is never merciful!" one of the crewmen yelled back. Jack finally succeeded in positioning the ship so her maidenhead faced the one of the _Dauntless. _Face to face, beak to beak, they headed straight for each other. Ordering Gibbs once more to wait, he veered the ship off just before it collided with the other one.

"Now fire!" he shouted.

The surprise of sudden gunfire sent the _Dauntless _a slight distance away, but not for long. She fired back, the ammunition flying past countless raindrops streaming down from the darkened sky. Lightning flashed, followed by a deep rumble.

"Hurricane a-comin'!" a crewmen shouted. "Secure the rigging!"

The waves underneath the ships escalated, knocking them against each other until the mast of the _Pearl _entwined with the _Dauntless' _foremast. Turning the helm over to Leech, Jack drew his sword.

"Just keep her straight," he ordered, running down the steps and into the shrouds. Clinging to them like a spider to its web, he disarmed one of the officers climbing his way onboard. The thunder greeted the clanging of the swords with a generous clap. "Fight 'em off!" he commanded. The crew sprinted to the edge of the ship, swinging away at the ropes the officers held onto, sending most of them into the churning waters between the ships. A few bullets expelled from random pistols and Jack wished he had a free hand to reach his own. Why on earth had he chosen his sword?

Climbing down onto the chains, he saw Norrington catching his balance on them. Oh, why hadn't he chosen his pistol instead? The man's swordsmanship was more legendary than his skill and relish at the concept of freeing the seas from pirates. Sure enough, he had his sword drawn and pointed right at Jack.

"You can still come quietly," he said.

Jack met the blade and struggled to his feet, climbing back up the chains and onto the deck. Norrington hurled himself over and brought his sword down onto Jack's again. At least he could keep his balance on the deck, Jack thought to himself, the rain streaming down so hard he could only see the glare of the swords in front of him.

"You can't win, Sparrow," Norrington said, spinning and almost nicking Jack's side. "Everyone knows what little brainpower you have is used just to put one foot in front of the other."

The sounds of the guns firing back and forth faded into a background noise, much like the bands in Tortuga did after a few drinks. He smiled at a bit of the _Dauntless _exploding into splinters, each one plummeting to the depths, like a snowstorm of spears.

"Commodore, although I've enjoyed being your hobby, I do think it's time for you to call it a day." He dodged another nick at the hip and ran backwards towards the bowsprit. The wind howled, blowing off most of the officers' hats, sending a swarm of blue spots straight into the ocean. Norrington leapt past Jack onto the bowsprit, about to curl Jack's sword right out of his hand. "Jamie-lad, I've been doing some thinking and much as I enjoyed my time in your fine jail, it's really a place only befitting for one visit and I've already been there twice."

"Third time's the charm," Norrington growled, thrusting his sword down into his. "I swear to God, Sparrow, I will not die before you do."

The thunder roared after the vow and it didn't take much of Jack's imagination to picture Zeus chucking lightning bolts down at the sound of such blasphemy. Gulping at the idea of having to balance himself on the bowsprit and fight Norrington at the same time, he pretended to step up onto it and tripped down onto the deck.

"Don't strain yourself," Norrington taunted. "Come quietly and be tried with some dignity."

It was all the time Jack needed. Leaving his sword on the deck, he drew his pistol and fired right past Norrington's waist. Throwing it down and drawing another one, he aimed it right at his forehead.

"I missed you on purpose," he threatened. "I've killed a man in one shot and you can be the lucky son of a whore that gets to be number two. What say you to that?"

Suddenly, the _Pearl _jostled, sending everyone aboard forward with a jerk. Jack smacked into the railing which in turn sent him down to the deck. Shaking his head, he glanced back up to the bowsprit. Norrington was gone. Staggering to his feet, he peered over the edge, pistol ready. A head poked out from the water below and swam for the exposed keel of the _Dauntless. _Jack ran across the deck, leaping over a dead officer. "Give me that helm!"

Leech lurched back from the helm, letting Jack turn it, releasing the mast from the _Dauntless. _The _Pearl _made another wide turn and soon, she was back on her original course as if nothing happened, only treading much faster than before. Looking behind him, Jack saw the other ship vanish in a cloud of rain and wind. If they didn't make port soon, the hurricane would swallow them whole and then a third ship would enter the fray, one that Jack didn't care to see.

"Jack, we best be makin' berth," Gibbs said, running up next to him. "We can't afford to have Davy Jones on our tail, too."

"An accurate and timely statement," Jack said, letting go of the helm briefly. The _Pearl _seemed to fly, riding through the waves. If any trace of Norrington or his ship stayed in the crew's vision, it was gone now. "Damages?"

"Nothin' that can't be fixed," Gibbs said. "I figure we can stock up at port and make some repairs."

Jack looked down at the deck. The only bodies he saw donned military uniforms and had military cutlasses lying next to them, equally lifeless. Without needing the order, the crew dragged the bodies to the forecastle and roped them together. A group effort, they kicked the mass into one of the longboats and lowered it down.

"We should keep the bodies," Leech said, his long fingers like talons burrowing into the ship. "Make a statement."

"I don't like bodies on my ship," was all Jack said, trying to remember just what it was about Leech he had found charming enough to put up with him. Oh, that's right, he recalled. Nothing whatsoever. He leaned down and addressed his crew with a shiny grin. "What's our life?"  
"A pirate's life!" Jack wiped the sweat and rain concoction off his face to the sound of soaked men singing, "We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot/drink up, me hearties, yo ho/we kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot/drink up, me hearties, yo ho!"

"Yo ho, yo ho/a pirate's life for me," Gibbs crooned, opening his flask. "Ah, port be soundin' mighty good with this weather. Supposin' we meet up with Norrington, though?"

"You're not serious, are you? He'd have to be a fool to sail through a hurricane," Jack said, still grinning. "Now, you sing quite marvelously, Mr. Gibbs. I'd love to hear about you rifling and looting, that is, if you have any energy left."

Accepting the challenge, Gibbs descended down with the rest of the crew and belted out the second verse of the song, drowning out even the next crash of thunder.

**Sorry for the short chapter. I debated for a long time if I wanted to go through with it or not, but I couldn't resist. I know a lot of you are looking forward to the DMC chapters, and they are well on their way, carefully crafted and written with much love. It just had been such a long time since Jack got to fight and swordfight with anyone, so I felt the need to put it in. There will be a new chapter VERY soon. Please leave reviews! They are such a joy.**


	18. Prisoner in Many Prisons

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest/yo ho ho and a bottle of rum."

Blast Gibbs for getting that song stuck in his head, Jack winced, tiptoeing down the stone spiral staircase of the prison. With each step, the stench of rotting meat permeated more and more until it blended in with the air so well that Jack decided holding his breath would be a fruitless effort. The wardens outside busied themselves with prodding a skeleton of a man so emaciated all that was left of him was his nose and spine. Jack conjured the image of a bird in a cage when he crept past them, the ebony of the night sky concealing him and the blackbirds circling overhead.

Going in with only one pistol and a knife, he kept an eye on the steps, knowing it was too much to expect a sword or even a loose chain to just be left discarded. His eyes watered as the odor blew over him at the end of the staircase. Lifting a torch out of its holder just to the side of the doorway, Jack leapt into the dark room with it held out in front of him.

From the ceiling, rows of bones dangled, most of them full skeletons extending almost six feet down. A buzzing resounded down at his knees. Adjusting the torch, he could see specks of flies hovering over pink and orange lumps, some tinged with a milky white hue. Sliding his leg out to make his way around the sea of muscles and ligaments, he skidded on the slippery surface. Sighing at the fact only the bottoms of his boots were sullied, he remembered making the choice to leave his coat on the _Pearl_. If he fell and the hem of his coat brushed against this slimy mess, it wouldn't do to keep it after that. He would have just had to give the order for the ship to make port somewhere so he could burn it. Just to be extra cautious, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

"Falkenburg?" he hissed into the darkness. Further into the torture chamber, he eyed fresher bodies hanging from the ceiling, chained by the wrists.

A hoarse, phlegm-filled cough echoed back.

"Falkenburg!" he whispered louder, maneuvering around the maggot-infested mounds of flesh. Making sure his trousers were tucked tightly into his boots, he wound around to the back corner on his left. The man was all ribs, purple blotches plaguing his skin. Deep-set eyes stared down at Jack, violet sacks dripping below his eyes. His arms were positioned above him, hung from the ceiling like a rabbit. Jack bit his lip. He'd planned on freeing the man once he found him, but Captain Falkenburg seemed about ready to snap like a twig at the slightest touch. "Just sit tight there, my good man. We'll have you out of here and a member of me crew before you can say 'a pirate's life for me.'"

"No way…out," Falkenburg coughed. Jack held his breath, climbing atop a little podium reserved for hanging prisoners. He cringed when he could not tell what was rope and what was skin. The rest of the poor buggers looked like they had been chained to the hooks on the ceiling.

"There's always a way out, mate." Jack took out a small knife and began sawing at the thick strands.

"You…ack, come for the hide?" Only the man's eyes seemed to move. "Pocket."

"I got one more," Jack said, ignoring the information. "Just a couple rules now. I'm the captain, no discussion there. Second rule, if you get the order to douse the lights, you douse the lights. The _Pearl'_s not solid black for nothing. Third rule…well, pirate ships don't have that many rules…as a rule, ha ha, but we are a sorry lot what could benefit from some. Hope you like sweet grog." Running out of rambling, Jack peered down. The eyes that reacted with such surprise to hearing a human voice now lay still.

"Falkenburg?" Jack asked, tapping the side of the man's face. Hopping down from the podium, he pricked the man's exposed torso with his knife. "Sorry I couldn't get hear sooner, mate. But…" Jack said, eyes drifting to Falkenburg's trouser pockets, "since your last act was one of charity, I believe a flight of angels'll sing thee to thy rest. God speed." Digging through both of them at the same time, he felt the soft, slightly frayed hide and rolled it up.

About to blow out the torch once he made his way back to the doorway, he remembered to just place it back on the wall. Sneaking up the stairs would prove harder than sneaking down them. He kept his knife out. Not like this place needs anymore guts lying all over, he mused, but when desperate times arise…

The caged men outside remained, pecked away by the lingering blackbirds, their screams flying over Jack's head and pulling at his heart. Keeping his eyes straight ahead of him, Jack concentrated on keeping his stance straight, still a problem after all this time. Really, it wasn't so bad, he had convinced himself. Everyone just mistook him for a staggering drunk and never expected any foresight or observations from a man who still practiced walking straight lines in the privacy of his cabin. Of course, Jack thought with a smirk, he liked to exploit all those assumptions and exaggerated his speech and gait even further.

Where were the wardens?

At the end of the narrow bridge leading to the main building of the labyrinthine prison, the wardens heaved massive wooden boxes out into the black emerald sea. Coffins, Jack observed, the heads of the nails glistening in the torchlight, dozens splayed out. Crawling behind them, he watched the wardens pound the nails in and dump the contents. Each one plunged far from the jagged rocks just below the building, and small wonder considering the arms of the men.

Jack scrambled over to one of the coffins in the pile and lifted the heavy lid, his arm tensing at the burden. A small, ragged body lay inside, an eyeless grin looking up at him. The smell dove into his throat and grabbed at his stomach, straining to pull it up out of his mouth. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he wiggled inside the coffin with the corpse, its frame narrow and petite, either that of a woman or a boy. Straddling it, he let his legs slide down further until both their hips touched. Face to face with his nose-less, hairless companion, he waited.

Had there been more room, he could have pulled the hide from his pocket and examine it. Too late now as to whether the key was actually drawn on it or not. He'd sail back to Tortuga and wallop Gabriel and Anamaria both if the stories all turned out to be hoaxes. Somehow, however, he knew the rolled up clue in his pocket to be genuine, and soon enough, he'd see the key itself.

At last, he felt the sensation of being lifted. Foreign conversation muffled its way into the coffin before the pounding of a hammer. Jack shifted his legs to avoid the rusty nails driving their way through the lid. Again, he felt the coffin being lifted by the men, followed by a jerky swaying back and forth. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the fall about to come. If he vomited now, he would just have to lie in it, inhaling it, feeling it soaking up his shirt. Ramming into the side of the coffin, he closed his eyes even tighter.

The fall lasted a lifetime, ending in a nauseating smack into the water. Wedged in between the corpse and the side of the coffin, Jack's arm and side throbbed from the hard splash. Narrow streams of water slithered their way into the coffin, shiny worms tapping against his boots. Finally, the water regurgitated it with a loud gurgle. Ah, time to get out. Fumbling off of the corpse as best he could, he reached for his pistol.

XXX

"Come on, snap to, and make sail. You know how this works. Quick! Quick!" Jack snapped at the crew, retreating back into his cabin. Gibbs did quite well playing dumb in front of them, especially in front of Leech, irritating little bugger. Smiling, he inhaled the air within the cabin—odorless, all evidences of dead bodies good and absent, he thought, collapsing onto his bed.

"I love me bed," he sighed, burrowing in a little more before lifting his shirt up enough to see the red mark down his side from knocking against that death-carrier. The cabin swayed upon the sea, cluttered with charts and books and souvenirs from the last year. How Barbossa had managed to keep the cabin so sparse and clear boggled his mind. He couldn't resist a satisfied snort to emit after thinking of that name. It really hadn't been all that long ago, when he shot Barbossa and…

"Jack," Gibbs said, opening the cabin door and staring down at him.

"Bloody hell, Gibbs! I could have been doing things of a secretive nature in here."

"Sorry, but it can't be helped. We, I, it's come to my attention…anything wrong, Jack?"

"Besides expecting Davy Jones to come wiping his tentacles all over my ship, you mean?" Jack growled. "No, other than that minor detail, all is right with the world."

"I wouldn't ask, but since ye know what the key looks like now, I thought that might 'liven your spirits a little."

"Well, it doesn't."

"Oh. Well, we was just talking, Marty and me, and for a while now…"

"For a while now? Been harboring up some thoughts about me, some assumptions, have ye?" Jack stood, taking step after step towards Gibbs. "Tell me honestly if any of them neighbor mutinous ones. You'll at least do me that courtesy."

"I'd think you'd know me by now that that wouldn't be the case."

"I've trusted a lot of people I shouldn't." He bent down and opened one of the drawers under his bed. Bringing out a glossy brown bottle, he snatched up two glasses and poured the two of them some of the dark liquid inside before passing one of the glasses to Gibbs.

"Is this brandy?" Gibbs asked.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's what it is." Jack took a swig. Whiskey. Well, he'd been close.

"So then, whatever's eatin' ye up…it's got nothin' to do with me?"

Jack laughed. For all Gibbs' knowledge and experience, it could really be like sailing with a child sometimes.

"Ye wrangled me up a crew for the _Pearl_, did ye not? Here ye are in me cabin drinkin' what may or may not be brandy. You're lettin' Leech infect you with his stupidity."

"I do hate that man," Gibbs admitted. "Well, since ye've got the hide finally, I can tell the crew to expect merrier times ahead, can't I?"

Oh, get out and get out now, Jack wanted to cry out, to give him a good hard kick in the bollocks, but this was Gibbs who was talking to him. It was Gibbs just checking on him, like Mum did when he'd been too quiet at times. She'd nag away, wearing her heart on her sleeve and trying to pass her own vulnerability she was feeling onto him.

"Mr. Gibbs," Jack said, teeth gritted only a fraction, "if in the event I am bothered or put out beyond any rational thought, I would surely confide in you before any of those also present."

"You know best, Captain," Gibbs whispered, turning and leaving the cabin.

Jack lied back down, but now sleep refused to come. It had been so close before Gibbs barged in wanting to talk, but by now it decided to have some sport and hide somewhere. So Gibbs and Marty had been talking, eh? And from the sounds of it, they'd been talking a good long while about what could possibly be bothering old Jack. Well, let them ponder it a little more. He went over to his table and spread the charts out. Maybe sleep would come out of hiding if it thought he didn't want to see it. He stared at the hide, the black outline of a key staring back at him.

Of course she bothered him. Why wouldn't she?

Walking across a sea of flesh had kept his mind good and occupied, but alone, at night, the same thoughts always entered his head, and he dreaded them as much as an eternity of servitude on the _Flying Dutchman_. He'd gone back months ago, trying to throw Norrington off the scent. Or at least that was what he'd convinced himself the reason was when he took his ship and his entire crew back to Port Royal. Then a novice swordswoman gussied up in her nightgown, it still shocked him that, of the two of them, he had been the one to make a fool of himself that night.

"I'm engaged," she had said, just when he had asked her to come with him. Women. How bothersome they could be at times. Sure, every woman he'd been with sang his praises, except one, but they paraded around claiming they loved him and couldn't get enough of him, yet when he offered them a chance to sail away and shed the responsibilities society demanded of them, what did they say? They say, "I'm engaged, Jack."

His fingers tapped the charts in front of him. He hadn't any idea where to even plan to go. Seeing Calypso again may be worth the trouble, but he had nothing to barter with and she never told him anymore than what she wanted him to know.

Might have told me some rum-burning viper refused me.

Jack shook his head, staring at the drawing of the key, waiting for it to explain its secrets to him. When he felt he was ready, he opened his compass.

XXX

This is a mistake. This is a mistake, Jack kept saying to himself, waiting for some signal from Will. He was relying on Jones to be so keen on snagging him at last too much. What if Jones just lost interest after all these years and sent one of his shell-men to just slit William's throat? Bill would never let that happen. Bill wouldn't know William if the boy fell on him from Heaven. Maybe he would, depending… Stop depending on things! He wrung the sleeve of his shirt, staring out at the demolished vessel before them.

"Hand us a spyglass, Gibbs?"

"Right here." Gibbs handed the spyglass to Jack and stood next to him. His fingers could have sunk into the ledge. "Even if Will does get the key. What about the chest?"

"William comes back with the key when Jones releases him. He and I find the chest."

"How?"

"Mr. Gibbs. Save your concern for Mr. Turner's well-being please. I can manage finding some pitiful chest." Or can you? Never mind that, he thought, and brought the spyglass up to his eye. As if he had rung a church bell signaling his presence, Davy Jones jerked his face right in the _Pearl's _direction. Practically flinging the spyglass away from his face, Jack jumped, finding Davy Jones standing on his deck, glaring. The silence surrounding him, told him the crew were surrounded, leaving him to not take his eyes off Jones.

"Oh."

"You have a debt to pay. You've been captain of the _Black Pearl _for thirteen years. That was our agreement." The shrill voice with just the hint of an accent forced Jack to take several steps backward, his heart pounding. There was not even time to clear his throat.

"Technically I was only a captain for two years and viciously mutinied upon," he said, deciding to muddle the one year before the mutiny and this last year.

"Then you were a poor captain, but a captain nonetheless," Jones spat, his wooden leg stomping the deck. "Have ye not introduced yourself all these years as Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"You have my payment," Jack said. Oh, he knew this was a mistake. Think, Jack. Think. _Sono spiacente, Will. _Don't apologize yet, he told himself, fighting for breath. You promised Bill you'd look after him. "One soul to serve on your ship is already over there!" He fought to keep his voice from cracking. Could he leave William there, even for just a little while? Bill could take care of him and then they could find the key. Well, it all depends on if you can find that chest now, doesn't it? That takes time. Time. Jack let the corner of his mouth turn up just slightly. Barter for time, find the chest, find the _Dutchman_, everyone goes free.

"One soul is not equal to another."

Jack could not have asked for a better cue.

"Ah! So we've established my proposal is sound in principle. Now we're just haggling over price."

"Price?"

"Just how many souls do you think my soul is worth?"

Davy Jones gave a throaty laugh and straightened his back. "One hundred souls, three days."

"You're a diamond mate," Jack said, sighing. Three days. Good enough. That chest had better not be in Madagascar. "Just send me back the boy and I'll get started right off."

"I keep the boy!" Jones bellowed. "A good faith payment. That leaves you only ninety-nine more." He let out a hearty laugh, his crew following suit.

"Have you not met Will Turner? He's noble, heroic, terrific soprano…" Jack spun out the ode to William, his tongue not quite sure what it would say next. "He's worth at least four, maybe three and a half. Did I happen to mention he's in love…with a girl? Due to be married? Betrothed. Dividing him from her and her from him would only be half as cruel as actually allowing them to be joined in holy matrimony. Aye?"

He saw the teardrop, all right, but beads of sweat dripped down the back of his neck for another reason. Closing his eyes, he snapped them back open, shaking everything but the present bargain out of his mind.

"I keep the boy, ninety-nine souls," Jones stated. "But I wonder, Sparrow, can you live with this? Can you condemn an innocent man, a friend, to a lifetime of servitude while you roam free?"

"Yep, I'm good with it. Shall we seal it in blood or, er, ink?" Anxious to leave, Jack pictured a roaring fire in the corner of a pub at Tortuga. Tortuga never sounded so good.

**A/N: To go back and find out what happened the night Elizabeth told Jack she was engaged, you'll have to read my fic "One or the Other." The Italian in this chapter basically translates to, "I'm sorry." I use an internet translator, so if it's not right, sorry. Jack speaks better Italian than I do. So we're now in the thick of DMC. Wonder what will happen...maybe a few reviews will let me know...**


	19. The Reunion

_Is love a tender thing? It is too rough/Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn._

Lacing his boot while sitting on the edge of the bed, that line certainly described Giselle tonight, still lying spread-eagle, the sheets bundled up at her bosom, her hair covering the pillow and cascading down the edges. The length of time hadn't been any longer or shorter than any other time with her, he thought with worried eyes, and the two of them made the headboard bang into the wall in time with their movement. But this visit with her proved by far the most unsatisfying for him in all the years he requested her from her madam.

"Feel better, Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"I said do you feel better? You had seemed so…tense when you came in," she said, hoisting herself up and rubbing his back, still shirtless. Her fingertips bored into the array of tattoos there, following the text of the poem singed into his flesh, tracing the pattern of one of the designs.

"I needed this, believe me," he said, turning to her. He threw his shirt on over his head, making a face at the door right across from him. Downstairs, Gibbs was setting up a recruiting table of sorts and the rest of the crew joining in the drinking and card playing and fighting. Why didn't he want to go down there? Out that door, a chest stayed hidden in some corner of a big world laughing at him, William was making deals with who knows what sort of men and now was on the _Dutchman_, probably being used as the bo'sun's plaything, his crew already thought he was selling all of them to the devil of the sea himself…Lizzie was off in some jail cell waiting to be hanged.

"What's bothering you, Jack? You know, you could stay a little longer. Free of charge."

"Can't. Have to set sail tonight." Throwing his coat on, he inhaled when he opened the door, the sound of the hornpipes already filling the little room. Giselle ran over to him, a trail of sheets behind her, and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his lips, his chin, his nose. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her forehead and let his lips drop down to her eyes. Most of the women he had had seemed to think so much of eye-kissing and Giselle was no exception. Well, even if the _Dutchman _claimed his life he could go down saying he knew a woman's body inside and out.

"Ugh, sailing on the _Pearl_?" She waited for him to confirm. "I hate it. It's like another woman in your life. Tell me-- you don't think of her when we're together, do you?"

"I can honestly tell you I don't."

"Good. That would just be so, so egregious."

"Been reading the dictionary?" he chuckled.

"It's about time I started understanding all those words you use," she said, a smile stamped across her face.

"Well, best sound educated then. You said it wrong."

"Did I? I was so sure…" She looked at the floor, mouthing the word to herself.

"Say 'e-gray-gus.'" He knew he shouldn't trick her like this, he thought, but for whatever reason, he had had enough of her. He found her silky collarbone and creamy torso much more unappetizing than he ought.

"E-gray-gus," she repeated and then clapped her hands. "Oh! It's much simpler that way! All right. If you must go, you must go. Kiss?" He bent down and pecked her lips, still swollen from moments before. Exiting out onto the corridor, he glanced down and saw Gibbs off to the side, Cotton moving another table over before running off to the bar. "I love you, Jack."

"Hm? Oh. Love you too," he muttered without looking at her and going down the stairs. Gibbs saw him and gave a nod.

"All set up!" he said, taking out a chair for Jack. "I figure the _Pearl _could use a few more deckhands anyway and it keeps up the illusion fairly well. Don't ye think? Marty made this." He held up a small sign that read, "Sailors needed" with a red arrow underneath the print.

"Where's that going to go?"

"Over by the bar."

"Good thinking. I think you can handle the recruiting yourself, Gibbs. I need to get a location for the chest."

"Oh, yes, of course." Gibbs nodded. "How ye be doin' that?"

"I have my ways." He propped himself on a ledge beside the recruiting table and took his compass out of his pocket. He stared at Gibbs, taking a seat and laying his forearms on the table, one hand on top of the other, back straight as a board. He really ought to let Gibbs use the compass, faithful, trustworthy Gibbs. His hand rested on top of the lid. Gibbs would believe him, that much was sure. It might help to have it set in a fresh pair of hands. On the other hand, it would be a truly difficult task to convince Gibbs he wanted the chest more than anything, and finding the chest was far too pressing a matter to leave room for dillydallying. Fine. He would just keep trying the compass himself.

Opening it up, it immediately spun several times, each spin ripping away more of Jack's confidence. At last, it settled at the nine o'clock position. It wavered, then stilled. Just when a smile crept up, it started spinning again. Bloody hell. He closed the lid and opened it again. This time it rested straight ahead of him before jumping back to the two o'clock position, then back to twelve, then back to two.

"I know what I want!" he scolded it out loud, half convincing himself it was true. From the background voices to his right, he could tell Gibbs was making far more progress than he was. Just a heading, he willed the compass to know. Just a direction of the bloody thing and then you can tell me wherever anything in the world is. Promise. Won't ever get frustrated with you again.

The compass kept spinning.

"How we going?" he asked Gibbs, his head throbbing.

"Including those four? That gives us four." Gibbs turned back to the table. "And what's your story?"

"My story?" the voice said, "It's exactly the same as your story, only one chapter behind. I chased a man across the seven seas. The pursuit cost me my crew, my commission, and my life."

Jack snapped his head around with wide eyes at the sight of James Norrington taking a healthy swig from a bottle. The smudges on his skin, his hair mussed, his clothes baggy—he possessed all the makings of a pirate underneath that military air. He had to admit, in spite of his rising terror, it was an improvement from the stuffy creature at Port Royal whose angst reminded him of a pigeon cooing in the darkness. Without taking his eyes off him, he maneuvered to a plant, hoping to make it back upstairs one tiptoe at a time.

"Commodore?" Gibbs' eyes widened as well at the sight in front of him.

"No, I'm not anymore! Weren't you listening? I nearly had you all off at Tripoli. I would have, if not for the hurricane."

Jack repositioned the leaves of the plant around him, wondering how the man managed to fall from the _Pearl, _swim back to his ship, summon enough bollocks to give the order to sail through the hurricane, and then survive it.

"Lord, you didn't try to sail through it?"

"So do I make your crew or not? You haven't said where you're going. Somewhere nice?" The nearby inebriates and barmaids gasped at the sound of the table being overturned. Even the musicians off in the corner stopped, anxious to tell later patrons how the most recent brawl all began. "So am I worthy to serve under Captain Jack Sparrow?"

It was the tone that told Jack he was seen, not just by the Commodore, but by every single soul in the bar. Magnificent.

"Or should I just kill you now?" Norrington drew his pistol and held it straight out at his side, the barrel right across Jack's chin.

"You're hired!" he said.

"Sorry. Old habits and all."

Deflected shots, bodies tumbling, and glass shattering all whizzed by Jack's ears while he ducked out of range of the pistol. The musicians resumed their song, keeping in time with the somersaults of the men nearest to them. Shards of glass lay on top of puddles of various spirits, and Jack swore he saw a tooth already discarded in the cracks in the floor.

"Time to go?" He gestured to Gibbs.

"Aye!"

XXX

"Serves us right trying this pub," Gibbs said on the way out. "Can't go one night without a brawl."

"Some would say that's what makes it such a success."

"Supposin' all the patrons just killed each other off? What then?"

"Then drinks all around for the establishment," Jack said. "So…four new hands, eh?"

"Aye. I do be apologizin' for that, Jack. I know we don't need 'em for Jones, but the ship is gettin' mighty needful of men. If we had time to call on Anamaria."

"I don't think we'll want to be doin' that."

"No? Just as well. No sense thinkin' of ideas what can't be used. You!" Gibbs yelled to the crew. "Those goats ain't gonna load themselves! Put your backs into it! What's the matter, Jack?"

"Oh," Jack stuttered, realizing he had been caught frowning. "Just that, my sources have informed me a journey to the Virginia colony may be in order." It was as good a place as any to start the search for the chest. "What are we to do with only four more crewmen, eh? Not even a good pretense for Jones. What kind of man goes to all the trouble of carving out his heart and locking it in a chest just to have it hidden away in the first place?"

"I couldn't be tellin' ye."

"Captain Sparrow!"

"Here to join me crew, lad? Welcome aboard," he recited, hardly even turning his head.

"I'm here to find the man I love."

Not one of these.

"I'm deeply flattered, son, but my first and only love is the sea." He nodded to Gibbs to make sure the youth stayed firmly on the pier and at no time board his ship. Bad enough Cotton's parrot was on it.

"Meaning William Turner, Captain Sparrow."

His body jerked around before he could even register what he just heard.

"Elizabeth." Bugger. "Hide the rum," he whispered to Gibbs, his mouth dry. It was really her, covered in a boy's coat that looked heavier than a sack full of grain. "You know those clothes do not flatter you at all. It should be a dress or nothing. I happen to have no dress in my cabin." Last he knew, she was sitting in jail and now here she was, looking at him as if she expected him to know what to do with her.

"Jack," she said, slight bags under her eyes now exposed. "Jack, I know Will came to see you. Where is he?"

Sprung from jail, late at night, sneaking all the way to Tortuga, worrying herself sick over that boy—no wonder she looked so tired. He walked up to her, his ears burning from what he was about to do. "Darling, I am truly unhappy to have to tell you this but through an unfortunate and entirely unforeseeable series of circumstances that have nothing whatsoever to do with me, poor William has been press-ganged into Davy Jones' crew." Cur! You've never lied to Lizzie, not once. She would have understood.

"Davy Jones?" It was too late.

"Oh please," Norrington managed to spit out in between gags. "The captain of the _Flying Dutchman_?"

Well, here they all were, Lizzie worrying herself sick over Will and the Commodore playing the part of the reluctant hero who would do whatever she wanted. Truly little had changed in the span of a year.

"You look bloody awful."

"You hired me! I can't help it if your standards are lax."

"You smell funny."

"Jack," Elizabeth said, gaining some strength in her voice. "All I want is to find Will."

XXX

Commodore James Norrington and Elizabeth Swann aboard the _Pearl_—probably the last two people he would have foreseen actually on his ship. Pintel and Ragetti sent Norrington off into the hull with an armful of cargo…about time they did something right. He smiled in approval. Elizabeth walked up the deck in front of him, her hands busy undoing the tight tail in the back of her head and shaking out her long hair, streaked with more sunlight than the last time he had seen her. He watched her run her hand over the _Pearl_'s rim, the mast, the bulkhead when she climbed up and back down the steps. Maybe it was the moonlight, but he would swear he saw her smile with pride and affection at the ship.

"No plank walking this time, unless you found it agreeable," he said when she came back down the steps. "You can hang your coat up in there." He opened the door to his cabin.

"I know better than that," she said, letting out a small laugh. "It's just good to see her back with her proper captain."

"Take the cabin, love. You look like you haven't slept in months."

She stepped into it and made a lap around his table. "You know, I do remember Barbossa keeping it considerably tidier than it is now."

"Are you trying to tease me? Love, I think when you have been out at sea as long as I have, you learn that the phrase 'a place for everything and everything in its place' can be applied rather loosely on a ship."

"You'll be wanting this back?" She held out the compass to him.

"Why don't you hold onto it? Don't worry with that," he scolded her, seeing her rifle through his charts. "Get some sleep."

"Thank you."

Stepping outside, he climbed up to the crow's nest and let his legs hang over the side. For someone so dirty and tired, it made no sense at all for her to still be so, so tantalizing.

XXX

Sleep had refused him once again and he staggered to the tiny galley after seeing Marty had the helm. Not about to practice walking straight in front of the crew, he stepped on Norrington's hand. A whole row of men swabbing the deck and of course, the one he had to step on was Norrington.

"Not drunk again, are we, Captain?" Norrington rose up to his knees, giving Jack a bemused look. The dead rat that the man called a wig now lay slumped on the deck covered in soapy water.

"Quite the resourceful one," Jack said, tapping the wig with his boot. "It's a shame you failed to bring your uniform. We could have converted it into a new set of colors."

Not waiting for what would either be a boisterous series of offended sounds or some attempt at sarcasm, Jack pushed through the door of the galley only to see Gibbs and Elizabeth sharing a loaf of bread and laughing.

"…and then, just when we all decided crashing the baron's ball was a good idea, in come his two nieces, and let me tell you, they were the drunkest ladies I'd ever set eyes upon! They could put this whole crew to shame! Ah, Jack! Miss Elizabeth and I thought it best to wait for you before we started discussing this chest business. Saved you some bread."

Jack waved it away and took a seat next to Elizabeth.

"Well, I thought you ought to know that whatever Will may have said about himself or me, the only official part of the deal was that you go free," she said to him.

"What are you talking about?"

"The bargain." She looked back over at Gibbs, and then back at Jack. "Surely Will explained why he needed your compass."

"So it is magic!" Gibbs said, leaning up on the table to stare past Elizabeth at Jack. "Might'a saved us some grief had you told me."

"I don't think she's done telling her story, mate."

"You mean to tell me Will didn't say anything?" Her eyes widened.

"All he said was that he needed this compass in exchange for your freedom and seeing as young William is rather good to have around, I was too willing to comply to press for details." He had his suspicions, but hoped he simply wasn't giving Will enough credit by thinking about them. "Who did Will make a deal with?"

"Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company."

Jack unleashed a desperate laugh from his stomach. Just when things couldn't get any worse… He held his head with one hand and continued.

"Might I ask what is so funny?"

"And you want to marry this bloody fool? Lizzie, I had you pegged for much smarter than that! Cutler Beckett is only the most shrewd, heartless villain ever to come into any kind of power, save for maybe Nero. William made a deal with Beckett? Forgive me, darling, but it's too much to take in and try to picture you depending on the poor simpleton for anything."

"Jack!" Gibbs shouted. "Keep your voice down. Let's take this discussion outside."

They all exhaled at the warm sun and open sky after leaving the crammed galley. Elizabeth fumbled through her coat pockets, producing the letters she mentioned. Holding them out in front of her, she said, "He didn't have time to ask questions. All that was known is that the official pardon was for you and that two more would be secured for us later. But we don't have to worry because I have all of them now."

"Beckett!" Gibbs snorted, taking the corner of one of the letters to examine it.

"Yes. They're signed Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company."

Jack recoiled at the name, waking his mind up again. Beckett wants the compass. The compass points to whatever a person wants. Beckett wants something, has always wanted something. Well, matters truly are worse now.

"Will was workin' for Beckett and never said a word," Gibbs mumbled, shaking his head.

Yes, that was a problem, too, but it could be dealt with in due time. Jack's hand flew to the brand, burning at Beckett's name. Keeping just under Beckett's nose all these years and now they were so close to the same thing.

"Beckett wants the chest…only one reason for that."

God keep Gibbs, Jack thought. "Of course. He wants the chest."

"Yes, he did say something about a chest," Elizabeth said, piecing it together herself.

"If the Company controls the chest, they controls the seas."

"A truly discomforting notion, love." It assuredly was. To think of Davy Jones sacking every suspected pirate ship in the ocean, all while hooked to Beckett's leash, made one's head swim.

"Bad. Bad for every mother's son what calls himself pirate!" Gibbs snorted, scanning the deck for a release. "I think there's a bit more speed to be coaxed from these sails. Brace the foreyard!" He ran off in the direction of the crew, leaving Jack to ponder what else his Lizzie might know, courtesy of Beckett. A variety of scenarios ran through his mind, most of them bordering on the grotesque.

"Might I inquire as to how you came about these?"

"Persuasion," she said in a mysterious tone, her eyes giving him a knowing look. He did so like to be understood. Leave it to her to know what he wanted to know.

"Friendly?"

"Decidedly not."

Well, that did ease his mind to know she did not have to resort to bedding the knave into signing the letters for her. He had always thought Beckett was…but then a woman like her could make a man change his mind about his lifestyle. Maybe she fought him. Remembering his sword clanging against hers coursed through him, but it was still a lovely image—Lizzie sneaking up on Beckett and making demands. Dare he call her a pirate to her face?

"Will strikes a deal for these and upholds it with honor, yet you're the one standing here with the prize." He ignored her attempt to look dumbfounded and instead skimmed the letters. "Full pardon, commission as a privateer on behalf of England and the East India Trading Company…as if I could be bought for such a low price." Nevertheless, it never hurt to have such leverage in one's pocket.

"Jack! The letters…give them back!" She started for them, nearly bumping into his back.

"No. Persuade me."

Truly it would have been a joy to maybe catch her blush or scoff at the request…was it a request?…but he preferred to keep his back to her, savoring the triumph of not only taking her prize but pointing out a deeply suppressed flaw in her character he happened to find quite alluring. But those thoughts flew out of his head when she pressed harder against his back.

"You do know Will taught me how to handle a sword?" she whispered so close to his ear he hardened at the sound of it. Turn around and kiss that filthy mouth, he told himself, but he pushed that away. She wanted to play? He could play, too.

"As I said, persuade me." It took a wave of reserve to refrain from bending his head down and kissing those lips right when they dropped open in shock and quivered at trying to form a response. She gave an awkward tilt and scrunched her mouth up into a tight ball before marching off to the stern. Reminding him of that night when she refused him, he should have been angry with her, but it really had been quite the best thing to say and he was man enough to admit he'd backed her into a corner and forced it out of her. He had not known what to do about her when she showed up at the pier, and part of him still didn't know what to do about her in the long-run, but while she was here, on his ship, a few things came to mind as to what he could do about her.

Her back to him, she looked out to the ocean. Jack nodded his head and climbed back up the steps to relieve Cotton for a brief while, calmed by the steady swaying of the _Pearl _and by his own confessions going on in his mind. She was a pirate and she belonged on a pirate ship. She belonged on this pirate ship.

She belonged with him.

**A/N: The line at the very beginning is from Romeo and Juliet. These chapters get more and more entertaining to write. Please leave reviews and tell your friends. I do not own POTC. Someone beat me to it...gives shifty eyes**


	20. Curious Findings

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! Please, if you like what you've been reading, tell me. If you don't, give me some constructive criticism. **

* * *

The day lingered, accompanied by a harsher sun beating down on the bare necks and ears of the crew. After relieving Cotton, Jack busied himself below decks carrying the meat up to the galley. Splashing his shirt with a bucket of seawater, he paced the deck, still watching Elizabeth. She worked with a group of men, hoisting a net of fish out of the water and onto the deck. A lone woman on a ship with both her arms busy, chest heaving, he expected to have to dig up the old cat and hand out a few lashings to the crewmen for accosting her. But so far, they explained how to tell which fish to keep and which to throw back and Elizabeth threw her hands into the slimy, flopping mess with a nervous enthusiasm. The men patted her back and laughed with her, carrying the full nets below decks. She even thanked them before she collapsed onto the steps, staring at everything and nothing in front of her.

"Thought some work might have cheered the lass up," he heard one of the men say.

"Didn't last long enough. Too fast a learner," the other one said.

Jack backtracked to his cabin and produced a honey-colored bottle filled with rum. Swaggering out, he found her still on the step, not even hearing him approach.

"My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled," he said, holding the bottle out to her.

"I just thought I'd be married by now," she whispered. "I'm so ready to be married." He widened his eyes when she actually took a swig. Eyeing the bottle, he remembered her sleight of hand on the island last year, but this time, part of the rum was actually gone. Indeed she was troubled. Jack thought about the endless responses he could make, eliminating the one that inquired as to whether or not being married to William in particular made a difference or not…well, why not hint at it? Her mind's already nearing the proverbial gutter.

"You know, Lizzie," he said, clearing his throat. What a laugh she would have. "I am captain of a ship. And being captain of a ship, I could in fact perform a marriage. Right here, right on this deck. Right now."

Instead of a laugh, a sharp look of distaste answered him with a clear "no, thank you." Now what vexed the other half of his peapod to the point where she could no longer laugh with him? She marched past him and held part of the _Pearl's _rigging. For a split second, he considered what his reaction might have been had she taken him seriously, but pushed the thought out of his mind.

"Why not?" he continued. "We are very much alike, you and I. I and you. Us." No rise out of her at all? She…she wasn't thinking about it, was she?

"Except for a sense of honor and decency and a moral center," she rambled. "And personal hygiene."

Well, he could have explained that smell comes from handling all that meat from deck to deck, but something was amiss. Last year, standing at the railing of another ship alone with her, her expressions told him she fully agreed with him that they were two of a kind, and now, after practically confessing to him she had womanly needs that were not as of yet being met, she denied it all? You're on my ship, Lizzie. Best be acting how you want to act.

"Trifles. You will come over to my side. I know it."

"You seem very certain."

"One word, love: curiosity. You long for freedom." She wasn't telling him she wanted bedding. Well, she was, but that was only the surface of her problem. She felt confined. Now here, out in open water in trousers and a gulp of rum in her stomach, all the lack of confinement frightened her. "You long to do what you want to do because you want it. To act on selfish impulse—you want to see what it's like. One day, you won't be able to resist."

"Why doesn't your compass work?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"My compass works fine," he said with a fallen face, too busy dissecting her question to come up with a smarter answer. It was only natural she would wonder why he couldn't find the chest himself. She wasn't stupid.

"Because you and I are alike," she said when he failed to produce a true answer. "And there will come a time when you have the chance to show it, to do the right thing."

Oh, Lizzie, how wrong you are, he smirked. At least she hadn't concluded…she was looking at him. Better respond.

"I love those moments. I love to wave at them as they pass by." So you think I can't find the chest because I'm concerned with more altruistic matters. Sun must be getting to her. Starting for the bulkhead, he paused when he heard her footsteps catching up to him. Her hands merged with the railing, her hair toppling over her shoulder and hiding the lapels of her stolen coat.

"You'll have a chance to do something, something courageous," she said, tapping the railing. "And when you do you'll discover something-- that you're a good man."

Those duelist eyes stared right into him again and Jack shivered at the sight of them. He forced a smile to cover just how, how, unsettling they were, especially when accompanied by such confidence in him. It was as fierce a belief in him as his own mother had had in him, and he knew just how much of a disappointment that had been.

"All evidence to the contrary," he said with a softer tone, glancing out to sea.

"No, I have faith in you." Jack inhaled at the statement, heart racing at the knowledge Elizabeth depended on him to be good. She had to know by now he was a mistake, a spot that stained John Teague's life and just a member of a list the navy and Beckett had of men whom society preferred to be executed in a public setting rather than simply forgotten about. But his eyes softened at the realization she was looking out to sea, too, with him. It was highly stupid to be so frustrated when he should be enjoying her presence, just grateful she was on his ship, peering out at the horizon line.

"Want to know why?" Elizabeth asked.

"Do tell, dearie." Since you're willing to harp on this and ruin a little slice of peace.

"Curiosity." She edged closer to him and craned her long neck to make eye contact with him. "You're going to want it, a chance to be admired and gain the rewards that follow." Her eyelids dropped a fraction while a carefree grin framed by those lips held his attention. "You won't be able to resist." The volume of her voice dropped, forcing the two of them closer. Don't tempt me, Lizzie, he thought. No, do tempt me. "You're going to want to know what it tastes like."

About to burst and throw her over his shoulder to his cabin, he managed to grunt out, "I do want to know what it tastes like."

They both turned towards each other at the same time, paying no mind to the fact their bodies seemed to know what to do while they didn't. Jack let the back of his hand caress that hair, his other one starting to wrap around her narrow waist. He couldn't hear what she was saying, probably because it was anything but, "I'm engaged, Jack." She wouldn't kiss him then, but damn it all, he was going to kiss her now and wipe away any thoughts of ever setting foot off this ship from her mind. Black Spot.

What?

Black Spot.

As if slapped awake from a dream, Jack saw the Black Spot spread out over his palm and, by instinct, he jerked at the sight of it.

"I'm proud of you, Jack," Elizabeth said in a broken tone.

No, it's not that…Black Spot…so tired of running…Will…kraken…want you…find that chest for me. Jack's thoughts swam around in a head that felt empty, the lavish library of knowledge scorched and reduced to a pile of ashes. She ran off with her cheeks flushed at the announcement of land sighted based on the heading she gave, and just for the moment, Jack was grateful she left his side.

XXX

"You," he said, pointing to Norrington, not even bothering to inspect the other members of the crew. He walked past all of them, Elizabeth behind him with a longboat already selected. "And you two," he said, pointing to Pintel and Ragetti.

"You sure I shouldn't be goin' with ye?" Gibbs asked, Cotton and Marty wringing their hands beside him. "I mean, those two?" He bobbed his head in the direction of Pintel and Ragetti, taking turns poking the jar of dirt Tia Dalma gave him, prodding it like children prod a dead bird, fascinated by the morbidity of it, hoping it will resurrect itself from the dead and pop up for the sheer enjoyment of scaring them.

"Just stroll a ways with me, Gibbs," Jack said, sliding his arm around Gibbs and guiding him over towards the longboat. "Oy, you two! Can't I even have a jar of dirt that's me own?" He lowered his voice and turned back to Gibbs. "As long as large, tentacle-y things are after me, you should consider yourself lucky you are in the presence of a captain with so strong a presence of mind that he still is tranquil enough to determine that if members of the crew must be risked, then they must be the members of the least significance…or the ones who piss me off the most."

"Aye." Gibbs nodded. "Why ye taking Miss Elizabeth then?"

"Because I have to. Now, mind the _Pearl_, make sure she knows not to talk to strangers." They piled into the longboat, a few shovels stacked across their laps. Norrington pushed the oars towards Pintel and Ragetti. Uncharacteristically complacent, in Jack's opinion, the two took the oars and began rowing them towards Isla Cruces. Strange, Jack thought. If Jones wanted to be sure no one would find his chest, he should have buried it somewhere with a pleasant name. _Isola di piacere_, for example, or since the Spanish named everything first, _Isla de placer_. Something told him this place wouldn't be so pleasurable. Blocking out the two idiots' blather, his ears honed in on a more intellectual conversation.

"Sparrow must be daft, dragging us all out here, unless of course, he means to maroon us."

"You know this place?" Elizabeth asked Norrington.

"Stories. Isla Cruces. The Church came to the island and brought salvation, and disease, and death. They say the priest had to bury everybody, one after the other. It drove him mad and he hanged himself," Norrington whispered.

"Better mad with the rest of the world than sane alone," Elizabeth said. "It makes sense Davy Jones would leave something here."

"Because of the pain associated with it?"

"Well, I was thinking more practically," she said. "With everyone dead and gone, no one would go looking for a chest now, would they?"

"When those pirates kidnapped you, did they take your heart, too?" Norrington snapped at her, prompting Jack to contemplate turning around and striking him. She didn't want you. Get over it.

"No." He could visualize the cold sneer on her face. "No, I simply learned how to survive among them without having to swab decks."

That's my girl, Jack thought when the boat hit the thin layer of sand. Oh, how fun, a sinking island. Jones had every detail all planned out. Breathing a sigh of relief when his feet hit the grainy white sand, he threw his shovel to Norrington.

"Deckhand digs."

"What? You mean for me to dig up the whole island on my own?" Norrington scoffed. "You brought two other men with you!"

"And they're minding the boat. Didn't the navy teach you that captains make the decisions?"

"Hold on, James," Elizabeth said, touching his arm. "We'll know where to dig in just a moment." She flipped up the lid to the compass and started following the arrow, pacing to and fro in what could have been a perfect triangle had Jack really cared to watch what she wanted most shift from wherever the hell bloody stupid Will was and the chest. He looked back to see her still marching around like a madwoman.

"It doesn't work!" she cried out, slumping to the ground with folded arms. "It certainly doesn't show you what you want most."

Jack ran over to it, ready to hurl it into the ocean if not one of them could use it to find one little chest. All right, old boy, he told it. You don't like me and I don't like you. But I need this chest. He imagined how the chest would look, training his mind to focus on one thing, just one dead man's chest. If he had that heart in his hands, he could be free. He could climb back aboard the _Pearl_ and never be apart from her again.

"Yes, it does," he said, watching the arrow finally rest. "You're sitting on it."

"Beg pardon?"

"Move." He gestured for her to stand. About to stick his own fingers into the sand, he jumped back and stared at Norrington. "Here. Dig here. Not you," he said to Elizabeth when she began to hold out her hand and pick up a shovel.

"Jack, I must insist on pulling my weight here. We all have something at stake."

"True enough, Lizzie, but you're the one what found it. Let the Commodore show us his feats of strength."

XXX

He could even block out the sun's penetrating rays, staying in this position. Legs crossed, he breathed in and out, waiting for the thud of the end of the shovel hitting wood. It hurt, trying to drop every memory of her from his mind, desperate to achieve in a matter of minutes what a year already failed to do. Wanting her, thinking of her, wondering to what extent he wanted her all detained him from saving his own soul. One has to be alive and free before anything else, and you're just going to have to forget her when this is all over.

Keeping one eye on Norrington the whole time, Jack leapt up at the sound of a dull thud under the sand. The three brushed off the sand resting on top of a small, deep chest. Inside laid a much smaller chest, designed in crab-like hearts and snaky tentacles entwining and twisting around each other. Smothered in necklaces and letters in a foreign hand, Elizabeth picked one of them up, mouthing the words, "I still love you. Remember all those nights we cried? All the dreams we held so close seemed to all go up in smoke."

She let it flutter back into the larger chest at the sight of the small one, looming over it like Jack and Norrington, listening for the steady thumping of a human heart.

"It's real," she gasped.

"You actually were telling the truth," Norrington said.

"I do that quite a lot. Yet people are always surprised."

* * *

**Isla del placer means "pleasure island" in Spanish. The foreign writing right before it is the same thing in Italian. The letter Elizabeth reads in this chapter is lyrics from the Rolling Stone's song "Angie." According to DMC commentary, someone actually translated the song into Dutch and included it in the chest, making it a love letter from Davy Jones to Calypso he decided to bury away along with his heart. So that wasn't my idea, but I thought that was too cool to omit.**


	21. The Adventure of a Lifetime

The familiar clashing of swords, especially his against Norrington's, provided rousing music to Jack's ears. He more or less swatted against the superior swordsman, keeping an eye out for the key. The narrow, crumbling stairs twisted the higher they went, leading out to a stone ledge overlooking the beach. Too busy blocking the long, practiced maneuvers Norrington threw at him, Jack cursed at not being able to tell if William was catching up to them.

Growing short of breath, he took hold of the pull attached to the brass bell. His stomach lurched when it dropped him to the bottom of the stairwell and lifted William right up to Norrington.

"By your leave, Mr. Norrington!" he heard Will say.

Rushing back up the steps, he peered out onto the ledge to see the two of them leap and lunge their weapons at each other with all the grace of ballroom dancers. Bugger. Why couldn't Pintel and Ragetti have taken the key so he could just shoot them and be done with this whole dance? Frowning at the rooftop the men backed themselves out on, it took all his concentration to balance himself on it, focusing on the large mill wheel to steady himself.

Well, someone within the gates of Heaven liked him because Norrington was closest to him and held the key in his free fist. Not smart, Commodore. Not smart at all. As soon as he swiped the key, Norrington and Will noticed him, cornering him like a pair of wolves and sent his sword flinging to the ground.

"Do excuse me while I kill the man who ruined my life," Norrington growled, sword ready.

Think, Jack. Think of something.

"Be my guest."

Don't think about what Will just said, think about what you're going to say, he scolded himself, erasing his dirty look at Will.

"Let's examine that claim for a moment, shall we?" he tried. Ah, yes. That would work nicely. "Who was it, who, at the very moment you had a notorious pirate behind bars, saw fit to free said pirate and take your dearly beloved all to his self? Hey? So whose fault is it really that you've ended up a rum-pot deckhand what takes orders from pirates?"

"Enough!" With just enough time to see Will's eyebrow rise in suspicion and fear, Jack somersaulted down to the ground. Picking up his sword, he positioned the key over his head like a necklace and dusted himself off, not noticing the open grave right in front of him.

"Oh." Death looked less and less pleasant to him. There wasn't much of a view, anyway.

XXX

It took the better part of a minute for Jack to secure his footing after falling out of that wheel, Norrington and William still atop it, battling it out. He wondered whether they knew he now had the key. He wondered where the chest now was, guessing it was no longer resting by its lonesome on the beach. Not too far away, an orangey flash of light caught his eye. One of Jones' oyster-like beasts laughing his way back to the _Dutchman _with the chest in his arms.

One could remedy that, Jack thought, picking up a coconut and hurling it right into the thing's head.

He ran over to the chest, setting it back in its upright position and gathering up the key. The centered heart seemed to jerk into a crab at the click of the lock. Eyes wide, Jack lifted the lid and saw a beating heart, no larger or smaller than the one in his own body, in anyone's body. At last. Stuffing it into his shirt, he made the long dash back to the beach.

He remembered the beach being more massive than it was now, the tide rushing over the white sand and dragging it back to the depths with it. The longboat they came in now wafted in ever-rising waters. The first one back, he blocked out where everyone else could be, rifling through the longboat for his jar. To think, not long ago, he saw no reason in the world to let Tia Dalma live and now he could have kissed those grimy teeth. Emptying handfuls of dirt into the boat, he lodged the heart inside the jar. Scooping up the contents he had just poured out, he secured the lid just as he heard sounds of combat behind him.

Elizabeth, Pintel, and Ragetti, tossing two swords back and forth between them, skidded into the rising water. More than half a dozen assorted crewmen that once looked human followed them. Picking up an oar, Jack high-stepped over the water, clouding from its merge with the sand to where they were. From the corner of his eye as he whacked one of the monsters in the neck, the mill wheel rolled into the water and gave a couple of spasms before collapsing.

Another one of the creatures ganging up on him, Jack fought it off, jabbing it in the gut and knocking its feet out from under it. Off just before the horizon line, the _Pearl _waited for them, anchored. Blast it, Gibbs, get over here! Turning around to count how many of these things were left, he spotted Will leaning over the longboat, the back of his head looming above the chest…and the jar.

With no time to trick or negotiate, Jack positioned his oar like a cricket bat and smacked it into Will's face. His body reeled into the boat with a thud. Sorry, dear William, he thought, but best not worry your swollen, aching head with heart matters.

"Leave him lie! Unless you plan on using him to hit something with," he said when Elizabeth and Norrington toppled over to the boat. The two spun back around them, facing the cursed crewmen. Pintel and Ragetti soon followed. The crewmen could not back them into the boat any further and one could only bang an oar into an undead thing's body so many times.

"We're not getting out of this," Elizabeth said, biting her lip, punishing her body until her brain came up with a plan.

"Not with the chest. Into the boat." Norrington picked up the chest and tucked it under his arm. Jack said nothing, heart pounding at the convenience of it. What better diversion than the chest itself? God speed, James Norrington. May we never meet again.

"You're mad!" Elizabeth screamed at him.

"Don't wait for me!" Norrington shouted, sprinting off through the beach back into the luscious middle of the island.

"I say we respect his final wish," Jack said, pushing the boat further into the water when the last of the crewmen ran after Norrington.

"Aye!" Pintel grunted, throwing himself into the boat.

"The oar!" Elizabeth bent down and lifted the second oar from under the water, its level now up to her middle. Handing it off to Ragetti, she scrambled into the longboat and pulled Will over to her, pushing his legs back to make room for everyone else. "Why did you give the order to have the _Pearl _so far out?" she barked at him.

"How was I to know Will would come and lure the entire _Dutchman _crew out to us?" Jack argued, taking the oars and rowing them out to the _Pearl_, every muscle in his upper body throbbing at the speed of it. "Don't touch that!" he ordered to Pintel, who was picking up the jar. "And don't drop it. Now, as carefully as those clumsy hands can, lay that back down." It was certainly a pathetic sight—Elizabeth and Pintel on one side of the longboat with William splattered over them, Ragetti in the middle whimpering, and Captain Jack Sparrow, captain of the legendary _Black Pearl_ doing the rowing.

XXX

"My prayers be with him," Gibbs said quickly after Jack broke the news the Commodore lapsed into madness, carrying off a chest Jack knew to be empty. "Best not wallow in our grief," he said with a different tone. "The bright side is you're back and made it off free and clear."

Before Jack could answer, the _Flying Dutchman _burst through the water, an array of beady eyed creatures ogling the _Pearl. _Clinging to the jar, Jack avoided the instinct to reach for his pistol. There was no use shooting a man whose heart beat outside his body. He heard Gibbs breathe an exclamation that bordered on blasphemy.

"I'll handle this, mate." He swaggered to the edge of the ship, making sure his confident smirk lingered. "Hey, fishface! Lose something, eh?" About to conjure up as many insults as he could, he let his concentration on his stride lapse. With a primal release of surprise, he toppled down the steps, one by one, bumping his elbows, his hips, his knees. Wasn't this first time, he thought, damning his brain at the same time. But it was the first time in front of Davy Jones, who had narrowed his eyes at the display. "Got it!" Jack called, clutching the jar. Oh, how it would all be worth it to pull out the heart and wield it to call off his debt. "Come to negotiate, have ye, ye slimy git? Look what I got." Too rich, he thought. He sang in a taunting voice, holding the jar above his head.

In response, the _Dutchman_'s guns positioned themselves right at the broadside of the _Pearl_.

"Hard to starboard!"

Elizabeth, Will, and Gibbs' voices echoed his own, the four of them scrambling to different sections of the _Pearl_, all racing to preserve her. Jack's ears rang with an agonizing intensity at the crunch of fire blasting through his cabin. Well, the jar wasn't in his cabin, he thought, shrugging it off before steering the ship further away, letting her sails catch the wind.

He didn't turn back to see the _Dutchman _fall behind, her fire fading in the distance. The cheers of his crew were enough. Letting a small smile creep up on his face, he felt a presence behind him.

"My father is on that ship," Will said, his eyes boring into Jack's. Pity, he thought. He had neither expected nor wished William to be the one at his side nagging him about strategies to adopt in the near-future. Did he think he was a simpleton? That he was just an ungrateful sot what forgot the few people who remained loyal to him? He'd save Bill, first thing after he called off his own debt. What should the third thing be? Oh, he did promise William he would force Jones to force Beckett to leave him and Lizzie be. Maybe he would throw in a ship for each of them. "If we can outrun her, we can take her. We should turn and fight."

"Why fight when you can negotiate?" He tapped the jar, savoring the bewildered expression on Will's face. Ah, William. You put so much effort into things which are really quite simple. About to pick up the jar, the ship jarred, shattering the jar the second it hit the deck.

He couldn't remember the last time his eyes went so wide. Scampering over to it, he circled his arms in a frenzy over the spilled sand. Each grain appeared white against the black wood planks. His breathing shortened. Gone. Gone. "Where is it? Where is the thump-thump?" The poets who described panic, who described the very loss of their senses had it all wrong. When you go mad, you can't very well compose any poetry. Gone, gone, gone—the only word that his mind retained. He heard a few voices speculate that the ship hit a reef. No. No, they didn't hit a reef. In an instant, the only word his mind retained transformed into "leave." Leave.

XXX

"Thank you, Jack."

If anyone was to witness him bidding the _Pearl _farewell, he was glad it was Lizzie, soaked to the bone and with more than a hint of pain in her own eyes.

"We're not free yet, love." He could see it, the kraken tearing the longboat with all of them in it to shreds, leaving a mass of splinters to be swept away by the current. Gulping, his hands shook at the idea of staying behind and letting them go. A good man would stay behind. He bit his lip, wondering if Teague would stay behind.

"You came back," she said, trembling her way towards him. "I always knew you were a good man."

There was that faith, that faith in him that made him come back, that made him consider going down with the ship like he should. For that split second, her eyes were like how they were when they locked in on his on the _Dauntless_, tempted to invite him in and yet so afraid to let go of everything else. Trapped by them, he froze, a dizzying feeling prodding him that if he said nothing now, he would never be able to say it. Even if William lurked behind him and cut his throat—none of it mattered. I came back because of you, and I don't care if you don't love me. I love you, Elizabeth, and I've been loving you. _Vedo l'altra metà della mia anima in voi__. _

The inner rehearsal evaporated out of his head at the sensation of her kiss, her hands grazing the back of his neck before cleaving onto him. They slid down his arms to his wrists, her fingertips kneading into them. Paralyzed by them, he could only turn his head and let his eyes roll back into it. Their mouths opened, deepening their kiss. Energized by it, Jack's hand traced the side of her hip up to her waist and just under her chest. The last time he had her so close, he didn't even know who she was or what treasures lay hidden underneath the layers and layers keeping her under the water. Now he could savor the slight curves, let his lips take in the softness of hers. Feeling the rush of a cold wind against them when she broke away from him, he shivered at the cold metal chained to his hand.

Still unable to speak, he grinned. It was all true, everything he guessed about her.

"It's after you, not the ship," she hissed, her eyes brimming with tears. "This is the only way, don't you see? It's not us."

Her eyes closed and she leaned in, the tip of her chin brushing against his. _Peccato dalle mie labbra? O la trasgressione ha sollecitato dolce! Diami il mio peccato ancora._

"I'm not sorry," Elizabeth said, clamping her lips shut and yet still kissing him with her eyes. Oh, Lizzie, I'm not sorry either.

"Pirate," Jack managed to say, giving her that look he always gave her when he wanted to make sure she knew exactly what he meant. Still lost in her eyes, he begged them to respond, to tell him those three words that would make everything she had just done forgivable. At this point, he would plead for just another kiss, just another memory of her touch on his lips, his shoulders, his hands. Bloody hell, Lizzie, I love you. See that. Know that. I'll make this easy for you. Tell me you love me now and I'll go down with the ship. I'll go down the good man you want me to be. Shaking her head, a sorrowful resolve overcame her and she turned her back to him, hustling to the longboat. It was the last one on the ship. With each step she took until she was out his line of sight, the same fact chanted in his mind over and over.

You're going to die.

"Bugger, bugger, bugger…" Still dazed, he tugged at his chain, expecting it to break at his tugging. Why wasn't it breaking? Because it's a chain, now wake up!

You're going to die.

Well, Lizzie had put on a good show, leaving him here, probably telling the others he decided to be a good man and inform her to leave without him while he went down with the _Pearl. _Well, he would just surprise them all, wouldn't he? He unsheathed his sword and reached for the lantern, just one item among many strewn about the deck. Ship of death.

Smashing it against the mast, the oil drizzled down onto his wrist. Knowing his luck today, his wrist would swell, he thought, but he managed to wriggle it through until it was free. It ached from the shackle, but Jack only stretched his fingers out once. There was still time. There was still time to jump overboard and swim for the longboat. Then, Lizzie, you'll be sorry. You'll just have to tell the others you love me then. Your face will give it all away when they pull me up into the boat and say how they'd thought they'd seen the end of me.

All alone, he wondered suddenly why he felt he was being watched.

Behind him, the pink wet mass that served as the kraken's mouth waited for him, each tooth lubricated with a filmy slime. In the center, a deep black hole caught his eye, expanding by the second. It waited only a moment before spewing its fluids onto him, soaking his face, his neck, his hair. The only protection he had was his closed eyes. It seemed to shift its weight after it finished, probably just taking a breath, he thought.

"Not so bad," he said to himself before spotting a black mass on the deck. It was his hat, still in one piece and still his symbol of authority. The captain of a doomed ship is still a captain now, isn't it, monster? He ignored the massive gray tentacles curling up over the deck. Clearing away the sticky liquid from his hat, he placed it on his head.

"Hello, beastie," Jack said, sword ready. The hole in front of him grew until darkness surrounded him. Still half-believing he was in the middle of some dream, he dubbed the hole the Gateway Where Adventure Meets Legend and prepared himself for whatever would meet him on the other end.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I'd appreciate as much feedback as possible from this chapter. It was one of the more difficult ones. All of the upcoming chapters took a long, long time to write, even get in the mood to write since a lot of intense stuff goes down in them. Special thanks to jacky sparrow from the KMC forum who sent me the link to the script for AWE. That will come into play later. There is a lot of Italian in this chapter. The first bit roughly translates to, "I see the other half of my soul in you." The longer passage in Italian is from Romeo and Juliet and translates to, "Sin from my lips! O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again." Oh, and since I've written a freakin' novel here, I might as well state once again that I don't own POTC.**


	22. The Locker

**A/N: Where have all the reviewers gone? Sigh. I've got another plug for Maidenfairhair's _Legends of the Pirate King_. She's updated and she never ceases to wow me. This is a good time to put in another disclaimer that I am not the creator of POTC, although I should put that on a resume and see if I get away with it...Anyways, this chapter contains some strong language.**

* * *

A blinding sun shone down on Jack's face, prodding his closed eyes to open and then snap shut again. Adjusting to the light, he sat up, an imprint of his body pressed into the sand beneath him. Squinting, he darted his head in search of the kraken. No smell of salt, no gust of wind, no porpoises squealing in the distance—the sand dunes only acted the part of ocean waves. He shuddered at the silence, his hand wavering over his pistol.

He stood and stepped under a shadow. Now able to widen his eyes, he turned and saw the shade provided to him came from the _Pearl_'s hull, resting lopsided in the middle of this wasteland. Climbing aboard, he counted the longboats at the sides of the ship. Remembering a tentacle reaching for them and crushing them, he shook his head at the ebony sails lying still above him. Not one patch blemished their surface, a uniform black from tip to tip. Tiptoeing over to his cabin door, the swirls in the black wood shined like new, like the first day he saw her.

With his hand about to pull the door open, he heard a muffle laugh from the other side. Cocking his pistol, he flung the door open and barged inside.

"Who's in here? Out!" he ordered.

"Here now, it's just me." A young boy, about ten, with eyes and hair blacker than expensive licorice emerged. Jack's lips went dry, sensing the dizzying headache that came when a person was about to drown. "Teague?"

"What?" Jack croaked, bending over and placing his palms on his knees. Trying to maintain control of his breathing, he counted to three and stared back up at the boy who was approaching him.

"Oh. For a minute there, I thought you were my father. You aren't a pirate, are you?"

"What would you do if I was?"

"Well," the boy stammered, kicking the floor with the heel of his boot again and again. "I wouldn't be afraid, to be sure. Mum and me know all about pirates."

Oh, God, Jack thought, sick to his stomach. A plethora of things he had been called in his time, but never, ever mistaken for his father by a kid, a kid he knew all too well. He limped over to his bed and sat on the edge of it, swallowing the vomit oozing up into his mouth. The light emitting from the outside into the cabin disappeared, a shadow standing in front of the door. Didn't the _Dutchman _blow the cabin to pieces? Yes, yes, he saw her blow the cabin to pieces. And yet, he was staring at a cabin fully intact. He jumped at the sight of the boy still looking at him. Still there? Maybe he was the one who was no longer intact.

"Oh, finally, captain's here!" a half-naked version of himself cried out, running over to him and falling to his knees. "We could use some guidance. Old Jack is out there dry-humping everything in sight! It's no sight fit for a boy."

"Old Jack?" Jack repeated, quivering. He pushed his shirtless self off of him and stood. "Please tell me you weren't one of the aforementioned things in sight. I don't think I can deal with that right now."

"Oh, no, Captain. I know to stay clear of him. I knew you'd be coming and just wanted to welcome you. Mr. Sparrow, at your service, sir." Mr. Sparrow held out his hand with a toothy grin. "And just what booty will we be going after, sir? If I could get some idea of what it was, I could start doing the arithmetic necessary to see everyone gets an equal share. Of course, if we're stopping by the village, we ought to go see how Tia Dalma is taking care of everyone. We still have a responsibility to them."

"Them?"

"Oy! The people you freed, Captain!" Mr. Sparrow slapped Jack's back with a hearty laugh. "Modest soul, you are. I forgot. My apologies." Whistling, he ambled right out of the cabin, leaving Jack with the boy.

"Don't suppose your name is Jack," Jack said.

"Jackie, actually," the boy said. "And I stay clear of Old Jack, too. He's a mad one, that. If we'll be setting sail soon, I'd be much obliged if you took me back to my mum, sir. She's probably worried sick by now."

Not answering Jackie, Jack went to the door and peeked out. On the deck, dozens of men that looked just like him were running around in every direction, most of them cleaning every inch of the _Pearl_, the rest singing or writing or crawling on all fours like an animal. What kind of Locker was this? The first time he was marooned, he remembered wishing for someone to pass the time with and now he had a whole crew at his disposal? This certainly beat being here alone. It wouldn't be too hard to get the _Pearl _going with a crew like this, and then they could find their way out of here, back...

"You there!" he called to one of the Jacks, this one propped up on the railing of the ship writing in a black log. Between his knees, the man held the ink bottle.

"Aye, sir?"

"Uh…just who are you?"

"Oh, where are me manners?" This Jack, in trousers, boots, and a thick white shirt that fell down to his thighs, wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. "Corsair Jack. Now, if you don't need me for anything." He propped himself back up on the deck and continued writing. "You know, I think maybe had I told her half of what is in this log here, she might have given me a chance."

"What?"

"Nothing," Corsair Jack sighed and stared out to sea. "It was right here she called me a good man, remember that?"

Jack climbed up the steps to take the helm, wondering if in this twisted universe he could sail through sand. There had to be a reason Jones supplied him with a crew. Maybe if he touched the helm, just touched it, the wind would pick up and they could find their way back. Jackie followed him up the stairs. They both stopped at the sight of a Jack in a sensible blue coat steering the ship.

"Come to relieve me, sir? Just as well." He held up his arms in a flippant fashion and took Jack's arm. "Oh, such strong muscles. Have you been doing some heavy lifting?"

"Don't tell me you're Old Jack?"

"Don't be so silly! It's me! Juanita." Juanita gave Jack a playful shove and giggled at the effect. "Things have just been topsy-turvy around here and I can't say Old Jack isn't partially to blame. Do you think you can find us somewhere elegant? I miss luxury. I miss the days when we transported lace and silk up to England. Those were the days! Women get to have all the pretty things, don't they?"

"Well, yes…"

"I've been busying myself by adding some ribbons to a dress I found down in the hull. Wait here. I'll go get it!" Juanita ran below decks, forearms perpendicular with the deck. Jack could find no words to respond, even with Jackie looking up at him with pleading eyes. Too many Jacks scurried about the deck and one just lay there in the middle, eyes open and still. A dead self, perhaps? Poor chap at least didn't have to see this mess before him.

"Captain," he heard behind him. Jack made a face at the disheveled creature in front of him. The braids and locks Jack had spent so long on to make sure his hair never fell in front of his eyes were gone, a long black mat lay on top of this man's head with no bandana. He wore a torn white shirt with fraying sleeves. What the bloody hell was he looking at? Jack never went out in public looking like he'd spent the night in a pig hovel. "How much sooner till we make port?"

"I can't say," Jack said, distracted by the bulge protruding from the man's trousers. "Old Jack?"

"I haven't been with a woman in…I don't know!" Old Jack growled in a husky voice Jack never used, not on any woman. "See, I must, must, be with a woman soon. There are animals down there I'm finding quite fascinating." Old Jack leaned closer and whispered in a worried tone. "I find them as fascinating as I found Lawan's naked body in front of me. I still think of that dragon on her. She was a right good fuck, she was. Of course, nothing beats the twins. Two at once, you know. The French got it right. But, I think Scarlet could'a given 'em a good run for their money. Could really plow into her, eh? You remember how wet Trini was? Now, that's what I call a great fuck! There was a girl what knew what a man likes. Of course, just going by beauty…"

"Why don't ye use your hand?" Jack tried, wringing his lace. What next, Trinidad hopping out from some corner and explaining why she never took him up on his offer? He hoped not, not fancying to see his old friend run for her life, run for her soul, when this leering beast approached her. Should have kidnapped the wench. Should have forced her to come with him. She'd be alive somewhere, alive and free.

"Don't give him the time of day, Captain," Jackie said, tugging on Jack's coat. "He's just a filthy pirate."

"Must fuck, must fuck…" Old Jack chanted, retiring below decks.

"Just don't go down there right now, kid," Jack said. "I have a feeling neither of us wants to see what's about to happen down there."

XXX

Unable to even find sleep when he lay in his bed, Jack paced the deck, watching Merchant Jack yell at the men about how their incompetency would cost him a captaincy with the East India Trading Company.

"He is a wound-up one," Mr. Sparrow said to Jack, still half-naked, bringing him a teacup with nothing in it. "Go ahead and drink that down, sir. Ye need your mind intact to be able to deal with all these ruffians."

"How did they all get here, Mr. Sparrow?" Jack asked.

"Captain? Don't you know? We just came here a few hours before you came aboard. We thought we would be setting sail, not that I'm complaining. It gives us all a chance to get to know each other. Why, you ought to meet Buccaneer Jack, the stories he tells. Did you know that he has a story about how he escaped the hanging at Port Royal by grabbing two parrots and letting them fly off with him?"

"Diverting," Jack said, rolling his eyes.

"He can't fight with a sword to save his life, but he tries so hard, God bless him," Mr. Sparrow continued. "He makes up for it when he has his pistol. Isn't this a wondrous opportunity to be alone with one's thoughts, Captain?"

"Assuredly."

"When will we be making port, sir?" Papa Jack called up to him.

"Yet to be determined," Jack called back down. "Just keep that egg of yours warm."

"I have a feeling this is the one," Papa Jack said. "This one will hatch and then I can pass down my Piece of Eight to the tyke and retire. Oh, yes." He got up off the egg and nuzzled it. "Oh yes, you know I'm talking about you, don't you? Don't you, little one? You are so cute. Yes, you are! But soon you'll have to hatch. Captain, have I gained weight since you've been here? What do you think?"

"I think you're quite strapping," Jack mumbled, entering his cabin and trying again to fall asleep. How did he get here with all these characters in the first place? Last he knew he was a pirate sailing the seven seas with great enthusiasm, especially after getting this ship back from that Barbossa. That had been quite an adventure, or was it all a dream? Sometimes it seemed a dream, thinking about the choppy waves on the way to Isla de Muerta, the starry sky looking down on him. Did he ever get Anamaria a ship? Did it matter since he couldn't be sure if she had been real? It all seemed so vivid, but yet so far away. He knew if he could just sleep, even for only an hour, he would know for sure what memories were actual memories and which were figments of his imagination. He closed his eyes and deepened his breathing.

"What'cha cryin' for, Jackie?" he asked the ceiling, knowing Jackie was still hiding about in the cabin.

"I miss my mum," the boy sniffed.

"Your mum's dead."

XXX

Not one blasted rum bottle on the whole ship, Jack sighed, done inspecting the hull for the day. Of course, it was always day here and it was no longer a suitable measurement to determine how long it had been since he'd slept. He'd matted together Corsair Jack's poems into a parasol for when he went up on deck to address his crew. Miscreants, they were, every last one of them. As soon as they reached port, he would trade them all in for some men who really knew how to sail and didn't mind following orders. His stomach growled and for once, it was the only sound. The crew must all be working, he thought with a smirk on his face. He knew better than that, but then, things were quiet up there.

He left the parasol down in the hull, knowing how Corsair Jack cried every time he saw it and lashed out, "If you only knew love the way I did, you would understand." Jack would then tell the pitiful bugger that if he wished to be with a woman on board to go find Juanita, but then he would just mumble on and on about how no one compared to Lizzie and no one else in the world would do. Jack was beginning to think he had kept his fantasies of Lizzie to himself, but he must have shared them with Mr. Sparrow, everyone's best friend who couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

_Ah, Juliet, se misura della tua gioia Sia heap' la d gradice miei e quello la tua abilità è più Per blazon, allora zuccheri con il tuo alito Questa vicina a aria ed ha lasciato music' ricco; linguetta di s Spieghi la felicità immaginata che entrambe Ricevi in l'uno o l'altro da questo incontro caro._

Coming back up to the main deck, he found Balmy Jack crawling around, once again complaining of his ailments.

"Get up off your arse, you," Jack said, kicking him. "You're a member of this crew, are you not?"

"Have a heart, sir! Me old crew left me to die, only a few years ago! I can't even sound sober or walk a straight line, much less serve on a crew. Believe me, Captain, this is the best way for me to get around."

"You're a worthless sod what makes the others want to be lazy."

Balmy Jack yelped at the kick and scooted out of Jack's reach, crawling up and down the deck past Sly Jack and Buccaneer Jack, who were each trying to top the other one's tall tales. They climbed up to the crow's nest together when they saw Old Jack leering at them and mumbling under his breath. Papa Jack cradled his egg in his palms and sang, "I love a maid across the water/aye, aye, roll and go/She is Sal herself and yet Sally's daughter/Spend my money on Sally Brown" to it, hushing up when Old Jack passed by them. Looking around one last time, Old Jack cursed and stomped his way below decks.

I know what he's about to do, Jack thought. About to retire himself and thinking maybe Old Jack had the right idea about how to spend a few minutes, he caught Balmy Jack out of the corner of his eye propping himself up and tying a napkin around his neck. In his trembling fists he held a knife and fork.

**"_Seven long years and she wouldn't marry,_**_**  
**_**_Aye, aye, roll and go!_**_**  
**_**_And I no longer cared to tarry,_**_**  
**_**_Spend my money on Sally Brown._**__**_So I courted Sal, her only daughter,_**_**  
**_**_Aye, aye, roll and go!_**_**  
**_**_For her I sail upon the water,_**_**  
**_**_Spend my money on Sally Brown."_**

If that supercilious codpiece thinks he can take without pulling his weight he is in much need of a lesson, Jack thought, taking his pistol out from its holster and concealing it behind his back.

"Don't do it, Captain!" Mr. Sparrow came running, bracing Jack with his arms. "The heat got to him long before you ever came along. He doesn't know what he's doing."

"Get out of my way."

"Don't do it, sir!"

"You want to be next, Mr. Sparrow? Then I suggest you let me do my captain duties. Still tagging along?" He pushed Mr. Sparrow. "You can only provoke me so much…"

"I don't care, Captain, and, to be quite blunt with you, sir, that's the sort of thing Captain Teague would say."

About to waste a bullet on him, Jack pressed on towards Balmy Jack, cutting what looked like a peanut as gently as he could.

**"_Sally Brown, I love your daughter,_**_**  
**_**_Aye, aye, roll and go!_**_**  
**_**_For her I sail upon the water,_**_**  
**_**_Spend my money on Sally Brown"_**

XXX

As if seeing Gibbs wasn't enough of a shock, there before him stood Barbossa, squinting and glaring. What had those crewmen done to him that, of all the things to imagine, was that wretch?

"Ah, Hector. It's been too long, hasn't it?"

"Isla de Muerta, remember? You shot me."

Oh, he was not going to fall for that. When Captain Jack Sparrow shoots, he doesn't miss. But that had been a nice dream, shooting right through the heart of that leathery body. He took a moment to examine the dripping wet facial hair on the craggy cheeks. There was more than he remembered, and a few more aged spots. Perhaps some time had passed. Right, he thought, and that really was you back there flapping your arms and sitting on an egg.

"No, I didn't."

Jack shuffled through the crowd made up of just about all his associates these last few years. There could be no reason why they would all assemble together.

"Ah, Tia Dalma, out and about, eh?" He stopped in front of her beautiful face with specks of sand blown over it. She grinned back at him, always challenging. "You lend an agreeable sense of the macabre to any delirium."

"He thinks we're a hallucination."

Now, he thought, turning his attention from Tia to where William's voice just spoke, a voice that sounded so much like Bill's. There he was, that noble, dignified, brave young hypocrite who stood just like Bill. It was easy to remember Will, so much against piracy that he committed such a string of piratical acts in the name of love that if he had been caught and sentenced to hang instead of Jack himself, there would be almost as long a list of crimes announced at the gallows as there was at his own hanging. He laughed to himself. No one ever hanged him. Here he was, walking about and making judgments about the most judgmental lad he ever knew. Well, he had had enough of it. Will could knock other people out with oars and pretend he was above any acts of such immorality.

"William, tell me something." Before I rip that earring right out of your skin. When did he get an earring? Must have been after he double-crossed me and introduced me to an oar. "Have you come because you need my help to rescue a certain distressing damsel…or rather damsel in distress? Either one?"

"No." It was too flat an answer. Too flat for romantic, chivalrous William.

"Then you wouldn't be here. So you can't be here. Q. E. D., you are not really here." He had wanted a crew, but these?

"Jack."

His heart stopped. He knew that voice. Where did he know it?

"This is real. We're here."

Her soaked hair matted in such a way it framed her face, her lips pouting out in spite of the nervous, yet determined expression she had, her eyes looking like they didn't know whether to drink him in or avoid looking at him—Lizzie? No. No, not his Lizzie. This was Elizabeth Swann, treacherous, murderous Elizabeth Swann who would just as soon leave him to die as lace her boots. Yes, he knew exactly who this was. That wasn't a dream. That happened. But then that meant…

He ran back to Gibbs. Surely if anyone would know, it would be him. The man had a story for every day of the year.

"The Locker, you say?"

"Aye."

Well, that explains a lot.

"We've come to rescue you!" Elizabeth said, edging out from her hiding place among the crowd. He'd kill her. First chance he had, when they were alone together…of course, no man in his right mind would be alone with her. No. He'd let her live. She could one day chain William to a mast after giving him the kiss of his life just in time to out-pirate everyone and tell him she wasn't sorry.

"Have ye now?" He slinked forward, still debating whether or not to kill her right in front of everyone. "That's very kind of you. But seeing as I possess a ship and you don't, it seems as though you're the ones in need of rescuing and I'm not sure as I'm in the mood." He ought to leave them all here. Taking his life for granted wasn't something unique to her. The number of people present who had attempted to take it before made his head spin. A passer-by might assume they were all friends.

XXX

Was this just some new stage of this Locker, showing him his world completely upside down? Here he was just beginning to get used to seeing Barbossa's face moving again and then Pintel ambushes them both making demands. He lifted his head enough to peer out to the deck of the _Pearl_, Tia Dalma grinning knowingly at him from across the way. No nightmare could be complete without that, he thought.

"That man been sleeping in my cabin again?" he asked Gibbs, who was still hauling the pallet line.

"What? Jack, the _Pearl's _been with you this whole time."

"Oh." He shook his head. His first few days in the Locker, if they could be called days since no night ever came, he figured that if anyone ever came for him, it would put an end to all the confusion. "Sure?"

"Bloody sure, Captain. Ain't no one been in that cabin since Miss Elizabeth spent the night in it a while back. I'll tell ye, the journey we made. It does the heart good to see ya, you know that?" Gibbs patted his back and Jack could not help but let a tiny smile form. "After Tia Dalma and Barbossa explained what we all needed to do, we was begrudged to sail under his command. T'wasn't an easy thing to do, for him either. The number of times one of us considered shootin' the other, and that's when everyone aboard felt like speaking." Gibbs paused and gazed past Jack. Jack turned to see Will heading below decks with a purposeful expression. "A sparse crew, to be sure, provisions dwindling and we hadn't even made it halfway to Singapore to get the charts. That bloody cur Sao Feng…took great umbrage to havin' to see him. Well, the important thing is you're back, we'll all get back and out to Shipwreck Cove in time for a dance and a swig."

The boards that made up the deck seemed to sway in time with the pounding of Jack's headache. He never felt dizzier, even after Mr. Mercer about broke his nose and scorched his arm with that poker.

"Shipwreck Cove?" he croaked.

"Aye. We'll explain it to ye as we go, that is if anyone feels like talkin' much. Why, just the night before we reached Singapore and sent Will out on ahead, he and Barbossa had quite a row. You wouldn't believe the temper that lad's gathered, rammin' up old Barbossa and pointin' his sword right at him, threatening to take off his ear if he asked what was wrong with him again. The pressures…"

"Mr. Gibbs," Jack said, hardly above a whisper. His head ached. "I can't take all this in right now."

"Oh, how stupid of me! Of course. You'll want to be concentratin' on getting us out of here. Those charts are so tricky. We all had a good look at 'em before we went over the falls, but no one can make anything out. That Tia Dalma…" His voice lowered. "How is it she can bring a person back to life but can't figure out these charts, hmm? She's got something up her sleeve, all right, and all too willing to let Sao Feng form his own assumptions. And in addition to that great mind of yours, we have your compass now, too! Nothin' to worry about now."

"Gibbs, I don't say please very often," Jack growled, his teeth gritting. She could give him that little compass that never did anyone a world of good, but she couldn't give him the bloody key? She could bring back to life the man that humiliated him and left him to die, but she couldn't have kept Davy Jones happy enough to prevent him from taking his angst out on the entire ocean? "I'm going to go into my cabin now. I'm entrusting this ship to, er, Captain Barbossa under your supervision. Don't interrupt." He held up a finger to silence the start of a grunt out of Gibbs. "I will come out when I damn well please, and no one, no one, is to come in. I don't care if the ship has sprung a leak. I don't care if the bloody kraken is back for seconds. When I close that door, it will remained closed until I choose to come out and no one had better barge in and begin telling me of all the trials and tribulations of bloody Hector Barbossa, Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, and especially, especially Tia Dalma. Savvy?"

He marched into his cabin and slammed the door shut. Now at sea with clouds over them, the shade gave the cabin a shadowy atmosphere. His bed, over to the side, was almost encased in darkness. He slumped into it, his eyelids so heavy. _Una volta in una terra lontana _was what he used to hear a long time ago when he went to bed, but now, finally alone with no thoughts or dreams to haunt him, he blocked out the voices, the faces, the memories and fell fast asleep.

* * *

**A/N: What do you think? Please let me know. The Italian at the end of this chapter translates to, "Once upon a time in a faraway land." There is a long Italian passage earlier on that is from Romeo and Juliet. Here it is in English.**

**Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy  
Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more  
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath  
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue  
Unfold the imagined happiness that both  
Receive in either by this dear encounter**

**So...this wasprobably the most difficult chapter to write. I wanted to really delve into the Locker since AWE just gave us a snippet. Please leave reviews for this one, positive or negative, compliments or constructive criticism. **


	23. Eternity in Lips and Eyes

He'd know that stance anywhere, that erect, smug stance a man adopts when he is sure the world has decided, if only for one day, to revolve around him. The sun and the moon shine only for him and consider even his lightest of whims with the utmost seriousness. Feet shoulder-width apart and his hands behind his back, Beckett did not even bother to turn to address him, favoring ramblings like he always did. Jack rolled his eyes and slunk up and down the room.

"It's not here, Jack."

"What? What isn't?" Beckett turned just when Jack's eyes sharpened and searched through the nooks and crannies with a purposeful expression. Too late to act drunk, he opted to just act stupid.

"The heart of Davy Jones. It's safely aboard the _Dutchman _and unavailable to use as leverage to settle your debt with the good captain."

"By my reckoning, that debt has been settled." He turned his head just long enough to catch a glimpse of those cold blue eyes. Behind them, an intricate web of threats existed, and Jack knew he was at the center of all of them. Each one acted like another poker, branding him in the same place as before, when Beckett let go of Mercer's proverbial leash.

"By your death, and yet here you are."

"Close your eyes and pretend it's all a bad dream. That's how I get by." He stopped to mock a painting of…was that Beckett…standing with the East India Trading Company flag waving behind him. The artist certainly took his liberties with the height, Jack thought. A scepter?

"And if Davy Jones were to learn of your survival?"

There it was, the leverage.

"You still think threats are the way to go, mate? Based upon what I've heard from my rescuers, who are, I'll admit, of questionable repute nowadays, you had a very smart little threat going to entice young Captain Turner to betray me, and look how that went. You stand there compass-less and here I am compass-full. Funny how that worked out."

"Oh, I'm far from resigned to mere threats." Beckett walked up to the table off to the side and poured two small glasses of what Jack guessed to be champagne. It sparkled and gave off that faint tint reminiscent of urine, but Jack strolled up to it and waited.

"Perhaps you'll consider an alternative arrangement," Beckett said, "one that requires absolutely nothing from you but information." He offered Jack one of the glasses and gave a smirk.

"Regarding the Brethren Court, no doubt." It could work. Of course it would require convincing the Brethren Court to come out and fight, getting himself aboard the _Dutchman_, and making sure William decided on no more heroics. He clinked his glass against Beckett's, so small, he could crush it into dust if he applied only the slightest bit of more pressure. "In exchange for fair compensation…square my debt with Jones….guarantee my freedom." He never cared much for champagne, distracting himself from the taste by observing the little army spread out on the table. Each one, clad in a black tri-corner hat, had his back turned to the wafer-thin, bent Pieces of Eight. Jack tossed his hair that peeked up from his bandana to conceal his own. He should have exchanged it for something else long ago.

"Of course," Beckett said. "It's just good business."

"Were I in a divulgatory mood, what then might I divulge?" He picked up a wigged figure not quite in the formation made up of the little men. It stood on its own, better dressed and more detailed than the rest. He grimaced at it, wondering why on earth the fact Beckett had a little doll of himself disturbed him more than the fact the man had an armada at his disposal.

"Everything."

Jack shivered at how close he had come. The man was too fond of whispering in his ear. Each word sounded more like the hissing of a snake than actual words.

"Where they are meeting, who are the pirate lords, what is the purpose of the nine Pieces of Eight?"

Jack's grimace exploded into a frown. He rushed over to an elaborate lady's fan and unfolded it. Just don't overdo it, he thought, fanning himself. Let the bugger think what he wants about you. You know the truth and no one will ever know you resorted to…he felt sick at the thought of it…enticing him. He saw the effect it had on Beckett, who watched him with all the desperation of a fox watching a chicken being thrown at it.

"Well, it's been so long since I've seen them all," Jack began, batting his eyelashes. He waltzed past Beckett and made sure to knock his shoulder against his. "There is me, of course, and I am the best looking one among them, if I do say so myself. You've met Sao Feng." He looked at his own fingernails, comparing them to Sao Feng's. He wouldn't mind if Beckett hanged him, actually. One of Sao Feng's bathhouses for his mother? "You may not remember Hector Barbossa."

"I do indeed. I sent you to apprehend him for me. Did you know he was a lord then?"

"I don't kiss and tell," Jack said. "You have 'Gentleman Jocard,' who is such a gentleman he would give you the scales right off his back. Capitaine Chevalle. The stories attached to that man, I declare! You'd like him, I'm sure. Two of a kind, if you get my drift. But not so much the case with Sri Sumbhajee. He gums his women like he gums his curry. Same with Ammand the Corsair. Villanueava of Spain—probably the first to turn his tail should any real danger surface. Who am I leaving out?" He counted on his fingers. "Ah, Mistress Ching, the most treacherous, vile, manipulative daughter of Eve if ever I met one. Well, one of the most treacherous, vile, manipulative daughters of Eve anyway. We'll all get together at Shipwreck Cove for a lovely banquet. I was on the list to bring the dessert, but since I died, I don't think they'll hold me to that."

"And the Pieces of Eight?" Beckett's eyes were wider than Jack had ever seen them, but he couldn't bring himself to look down and see if this act was in any way, stimulating Beckett in any other fashion besides intellectually.

"Oh those things? Psh. Just a way to release the goddess Calypso if the stories are to be believed."

"Jack," Beckett breathed. "You, you are telling the truth, aren't you?"

"You'd be surprised how often people ask me that."

"Thank you," Beckett whispered, cocking his head to look Jack over up and down. "I presume you have your own demands?"

"Ah yes. I take it you will be taking prisoners when you overthrow Shipwreck Cove?"

"It is part of my job to ensure the safety of my ships," Beckett said, taking a seat, his chest heaving. "You may have a seat, too, if you wish. I'm not afraid to let you in."

"I'd rather stand."

"But," Beckett said, sitting up and glancing down at his little army, "You'll want them alive and well, won't you?"

"Not as many as you think," Jack said with a grin, fanning himself harder. "You can keep Barbossa, the belligerent homunculus and his friend with the wooden eye, both. And Turner. Especially Turner. The rest come with me aboard the _Pearl _and I lead you to Shipwreck Cove where I will hand you the pirates and you will not give me to Jones. Bloody fair deal, don't you think?"

The slight pause dried Jack's tongue. Something wasn't going well. The man was getting much better at concealing his thoughts.

"And what becomes of Miss Swann?"

He wished he had an answer for that.

"And what is she to you?"

The corners of Beckett's mouth curled up and Jack wondered what images were coming to Lord Cutler Beckett's mind. The ones in his own were much more troubling.

XXX

"Good show locking him up in the brig!" Gibbs said, steering the _Pearl _to Shipwreck Cove. "Thought for sure you'd bring out the old cat, but at least this way he's out of our hair."

"For now," Jack said. "Barbossa in me cabin?"

"Aye. It'd take pain of death to force him out. Bloody terrified of Tia Dalma, though he'd never say so. She brought him back, in case no one filled ye in on that. Yes, sir, we're a motley crew, to be sure. Miss Elizabeth runs off with Sao Feng to get us the _Pearl_ and then you got those two…" He cocked his head over to Pintel and Ragetti, seeing which one could spit the farthest into the water. "At least we'll see Miss Elizabeth when Sao Feng comes to the Cove, but as fer…" he trailed off, pointing down to below decks. "He's got a little too rash for our purposes."

"It's not something to worry over, Gibbs," Jack said. "In fact, I'll give ye any possession ye want save for me lace and me Piece of Eight if you'll just keep staring straight ahead of you and just ignore anything that may happen on deck, savvy?"

"And save for your hat."

"And me hat."

"I'll stare straight ahead and wait for ye to decide on the proper reward," Gibbs said. "Releasing Turner?"

"Now, if I tell you, that would defeat the purpose of having you conveniently not looking at the deck to see what events take place there. But…he's probably found his own way out by now. That'll be all, Mr. Gibbs." He made his way down the steps.

"And may a gentle breeze and a cask of grog come your way, Captain."

He had to hand it to William. Just when he had the boy figured for an absolute henpecked mammet, he had turned the tables on everyone. So he did indeed plan to free Bill. Picturing Bill passing through the narrow Spanish streets with him brought a smile to Jack's face, but not the picture of Bill's son chained to that ship of death. An even worse picture proved to be that of himself, gazing up at the sky from a hole six feet into the earth. Only Teague peered down into the hole before shoveling fresh, moist dirt right over Jack's mouth and eyes. Unable to cry out, unable to do anything, his view of the sky dwindled down until complete darkness replaced it.

About to storm into his cabin and find the nearest bottle and glass, he spied William hurling a barrel overboard into the ocean.

"You escaped the brig even quicker than I expected," Jack called down to him. He smirked at the startled look on the boy's face, knife drawn. Sometimes Barbossa's description of him being a whelp fit only too well. "William, do you notice anything? Rather, do you notice something that is not there to be noticed?"

"You haven't raised an alarm," he said, lowering the knife. He maintained his confused, suspicious expression.

"Odd, isn't it? Not as odd as this…" He swaggered over to him. He was glad one of them could stomach handling corpses. Might be a useful skill to have acquired in a pirate-filled world. "Come up with this all by your lonesome, did ye?"

"I said to myself, 'think like Jack.'" It was said with a sharp tone, but Will's body said it was at ease now and was eager to talk to Jack rather than just drive a knife into him. Strange how, on the way to Isla de Muerta, Will talked quite a bit—about his job, about Elizabeth, about his father. Escaping the Locker, Will hadn't had too much to say, not since they were all standing on the beach there, begging him to let them rescue him…or at least that's how Jack would tell it if anyone asked.

"And this is what you've arrived at? Lead Beckett to Shipwreck Cove so as to gain his trust, accomplish your own ends. It's like you don't know me at all, mate." A pathetic smile surfaced on Will's face. He was smarter than he gave himself credit for, Jack admitted to himself, but it wasn't Will's conscience telling him to not touch dead bodies that made him so eager to talk. Perhaps it was someone else who hardly said a word when they all left the Locker. "And how does your dearly beloved feel about this plan?" Nothing. "Ah. You've not seen fit to trust her with it." Yes, William Turner Junior was decidedly smarter than he gave himself credit for being.

"I'm losing her, Jack." It was scarcely above a whisper. "Every step I make for my father is a step away from Elizabeth."

Poor, poor noble Will. He had told himself he didn't care if Lizzie did nothing on the journey back to the world of the living except mourn and brood, but he did. And now that he was sure he was over her, maybe an arrangement should be proposed.

"Mate, if you choose to lock your heart away, you'll lose her for certain. I may be able to lend a machete to your intellectual thicket: avoid the choice altogether. Change the facts. Let someone else dispatch Jones." Machete to your intellectual thicket? Better take a stab at using that brain of yours if you want William to go along with this. Through the darkness he could see Will's eyebrows narrow.

"Who? You?"

"Death has a curious way of reshuffling one's priorities." Well, Lizzie wasn't here to talk to and he wasn't sure if he would confide in her now anyway, so Will was the next best thing. Besides, it wasn't she who was tempted to stab the heart. What was it Beckett had said? Eliminating the middle man? "I slip aboard the _Dutchman_, find the heart, stab the beating thing, your father goes free from his debt and you're free to be with your charming murderess." It might feel good to do the right thing and free Bill himself.

"And you're willing to cut out your heart and bind yourself to the _Dutchman _forever?"

"No, mate. I'm free forever, free to sail the world beyond the edges of the map." It sounded even more appealing when he said it out loud. "Free from death itself."

"You have to do the job, though, Jack" Will warned. "You have to ferry souls to the next world. Or end up just like Jones." He wiggled his fingers under his chin. Much to Jack's surprise, it referenced the tragedy that was being Davy Jones with a formidable ferocity.

"I never had the face for tentacles." If ferrying the dead to their great beyond prevented him from losing every shred of his humanity and being reduced to Jones, it was a small price to pay. "Still immortal has to count for something, eh? Oh." He reached for his compass and handed it to Will. There was something about using corpses strapped to barrels as breadcrumbs that just didn't quite ring true, and Will had mutinied against them all. Yes. Jack smirked. Give the whelp the opportunity to negotiate with Beckett.

"What's this for?"

"Think like me. It'll come to you." He took a step and breathed on him. There was something about champagne that left an awful taste in one's mouth and, oh, did young William fall overboard? Clumsy Jack, he scolded himself. He'll just have to rely on Beckett now, and he did want credit for being alive when it came to Davy Jones. "My regards to Davy Jones!"

XXX

"A sure sign of the apocalypse, making you king. The apocalypse, to be sure," Barbossa grumbled to Elizabeth as he followed her out of the meeting room. It led back out to the mouth of the cave. Drops of water echoed further into the entrails of the cavern, but the only part of it that ever concerned a pirate was the alcove of the cave where the first brethren court chose to hold council. Elizabeth turned around and sneered at him, leaving Jack and Gibbs off to the side.

"I didn't hear you doing anything to help the situation," she said. "Free Calypso. Are you mad?"

"You'll be singing a different tune, young missy, if things start to go sour. But, in the meantime, how may I serve ye, oh merciful king?"

"We need to get Will back from Beckett."

"Miss Elizabeth!" Gibbs gasped, stepping forward. Jack let his back rest against the wall of the cave. What answer had Gibbs expected? "We'd best not cross paths with that vile miscreant until we're all in our ships!"

"I'd rather Will not be on the _Endeavor _while we're blowing it to pieces," she said. Barbossa glanced over at Jack, who just smirked at him. He expected that to be enough to quell the look of doubt on Barbossa's face, but he found himself the newest participant in a staring contest. "Is there to be anymore quibbling, Captain Barbossa?"

"None that you'll be hearing," he said, following the cave back out to the blinding light of the beach mumbling, "A surer sign than a pale horse."

Gibbs followed him out, and Jack knew he should follow suit, but he lingered, convincing himself it was because the cold stone of the cave combined with the shade provided a much more comfortable environment than going back out under the burning sunlight. Elizabeth folded her arms and let her back fall against the wall. Side by side with her, he decided to wait and let her speak first. Just the title of captain in front of her name took his breath away, barging in and ramming her sword into the globe, dressed like she'd been raised on one of the many islands in the Pacific. She needed a hat that fit her better, he thought, staring at her, one that from the top didn't resemble lady parts. He shook his head and took a breath. He hoped she would speak or simply leave the cavern. If he looked at her any longer...

"Just about everyone in that room would be more qualified than me," she began. He turned his head back and kept his eyes forward.

"Aye, but you were the only one who also wanted to fight." They didn't face each other, but he could hear her sigh. "My hat's off to ye for killing old Sao, metaphorically speaking. That in itself qualifies ye."

"For the last time, Jack, I didn't kill Sao Feng. We were taken over by the _Dutchman_."

"Oh yes, I must have me facts muddled with another story," Jack snapped. "And who did you have to kill in order to escape?" He finally let his head relax over to the side to look at her again. She avoided his gaze by staring at the sand-covered ground.

"No one. We were put directly into the brig." She paused, taking a deep inhale. "James was killed trying to save me."

"Well," Jack trailed off, speechless at first. Should he be saddened by that news? Should he be envious? Should he be relieved, or happy? How strange to not know how to feel. "Can't rightly say I'll miss our dear Commodore. Don't give me that disapproving look, Lizzie. I haven't any reason in the world to mourn him, but you do. If it's any consolation, I'm fully convinced he's up there right now with a harp and wings. He took down too many like us to deserve a lesser fate. Does that comfort you?"

Her face melted into a resigned calm. "I suppose it does."

"And think of it this way—had he not been killed, you might have had to give him a little kiss and do the job yourself."

"Jack!" she yelled, even resorting to stomping her foot. "Won't you…"

It was a split decision, pinning her to the wall and kissing those pouting lips again. He waited for a sharp knee to his groin, but instead he felt her arms wrap around him, holding the back of his head so he couldn't break away from her. Finally, a moment free of chains, of death, of everything in existence but the two of them. Risking an escape attempt from her, he let go of her shoulders and cupped her face, opening his eyes just long enough to see hers closed, lost in the same moment. Why was fate so unkind to prevent her from becoming his Lizzie? Why wouldn't she just stay with him and sail with him and spend her life with him? He pushed his hands up to her temples and then into her chin-length strands of hair too short to be gathered in that stifling bun. Unable to breathe, he broke the kiss and gathered her into his arms. He'd never held a woman like this, and surprised even himself with how satisfying, how befitting it was, to have his head against hers, feeling her whole body against his own.

"Is this your idea of getting even with me?" she whispered into his ear, and he could hear the smile on her face.

"I'm all for this kind of vengeance," he whispered back, pulling her even tighter to him. He felt her chin drop down, her head lying on his shoulder.

"Jack," she breathed, pausing too long for anything good to be said next. "There's Will. If, if so much was different…I can't…"

"I wouldn't ask you to," he said, and it was the truth. No, he didn't want to technically steal her away from the only child of Bill Turner, and yet he wouldn't have complained if that was the turn the events chose to take. "William does tend to endear himself to people, and you know as well as I do this is simply my revenge."

"Keep telling yourself that," she said and pulled him down to her again, kissing him with a fervor so tortuous he needed to brace the cavern wall with his hand. She released his upper lip before his lower one and opened her eyes. She curled back into him, the top of her head right below his face. "You're a good man, Jack Sparrow. The…what is that?"

He knew she was not so crude a pirate as to inquire about the bulge that was hardening between his legs, but he didn't know what else she would be looking at until he noticed her staring at the newest addition to his possessions. He gave out a short laugh.

"Oh that?"

"Yes, that."

He shook his hip to let his mother's head bob up and down. She'd been so beautiful, so alive, and although he still didn't understand Teague's preoccupation with it, it felt strangely comforting to have her beside him again. Maybe he would give it back to Teague when their battle was over, but at least for a while, he needed it with him, that gorgeous Italian voice he missed so much telling him story after story.

"Elizabeth Swann, you have the pleasure of making your acquaintance with me mum."

She looked at him in disbelief, but only for a moment, nodding her head and giving him a warm smile. "It's Captain Elizabeth Swann, actually. A gift from Captain Teague?" She didn't really ask it, and instead glanced out at the beach. "It's time to go." She threw her arms around him one more time and held him tighter than she had before. So perfect a moment, Jack thought, and he would never have the chance to be alone with her again. Bending down just slightly, he brushed a lock of hair away from her ear and whispered to her.

"I love you."

She cocked her head up with sad eyes, shaking her head. But there was something else. The corners of her mouth could barely restrain themselves from turning up into a smile. Her eyes locked onto his and he drank in this new look she had never given him before. It was…he tried to push out what he wanted it to be, but even the most logical part of his mind saw it. She loved him. She was telling him with everything but her voice, that she loved him and that she knew he would know that.

**A/N: The chapter title is a line from Shakespeare's _Antony and Cleopatra_, a play loosely based on actual events of a couple who decided to take on an empire...sense any parallels? Please leave a review.**


	24. Armageddon

Squinting from the sunlight coursing through his hair into the back of his neck, Jack spotted three silhouetted figures closer than the piercing daylight led one to believe. Arms at his side, he could hear only the shuffling of his, Elizabeth, and Barbossa's boots through the pale sand. He could see their faces now, solemn, their ringleader's icy blue eyes penetrating his own. Not one gust of wind prevented him from forcing a confident sneer at the sight of Davy Jones, the captain's legs so soaked and inhuman it seemed to Jack the buckets strapped onto him had always been there, gelled into him like what eventually happened to the cursed sailors aboard his ship. Five feet in front of the row of the three people who irritated him most for today, he glanced over at Will, unharmed and with purpose, just as he had expected.

"Ye be the cur who led these wolves to our door!" Barbossa growled at him. Obviously not everyone had expected to find Will unharmed and with purpose. Jack stood a little straighter.

"Don't blame Turner. He was merely the tool of your betrayal. If you wish to see its grand architect, look to your left."

Bugger. Didn't the man ever sweat?

It was too late for any explanation, Elizabeth and Barbossa shaking their heads at him. There might have been a few things he had forgotten to mention back at Shipwreck Cove.

"My hands are clean in this…figuratively."

"My actions were my own and to my own purpose. Jack had nothing to do with it."

"Well spoke! Listen to the tool." Maybe this meeting wouldn't end so badly after all. William knew enough to pick up on cues. Isla de Muerta had proven that.

"Will, I've been aboard the _Dutchman_," Elizabeth began, raising her eyebrows and leaning her head in like a mother does when warning a child. "I understand the burden you bear, but I fear that course is lost."

"No cause is lost if there is but one fool left to fight for it," Will said to her, but looked at Jack. He nodded in return. Do ye see what we're doing, love? Help us out now. If he could get on that ship…if he could find that heart.

"If Turner was not acting on your behalf, then how did he come to give me this?" Beckett produced the compass. "You made a deal with me, Jack, to deliver the pirates, and here they are. Don't be bashful. Step up. Claim your reward." With that, he tossed the compass to him in so swift a motion it was as if he had never moved. The words stung, and yes, he thought, there most definitely were things that a lovely kiss made one forget about mentioning, but it could still work. He could still be happy without her if he could just get aboard that bloody ship.

"Your debt to me is still to be satisfied!" Davy Jones hissed. "One hundred years in service aboard the _Dutchman_, as a start."

"That debt was paid, mate, with help."

"You escaped!"

"Technically…" he trailed off, begging, begging her to give the order, especially since he had nothing to go on after the word "technically."

"I propose an exchange."

Jack thought he couldn't love her anymore than he had at the Cove, but here she was, reading his thoughts and channeling in to his plan. Bless that brain underneath that pretty head. Maybe he would still somehow be able to give her and William each a ship.

"Will leaves with us, and you can take Jack."

It took energy not to smile.

"Done," Will said.

"Undone!"

"Done," Beckett concurred.

"Jack is one of the nine pirate lords! You have no right," Barbossa growled at her, only to be answered with a defiant smirk.

"King!" She turned back to him and watched him make his bow.

"Blaggard!" Barbossa's sword came flying at him, grazing his bandana as it clipped off his Piece of Eight only to be gathered by that ridiculous little monkey. Calypso. Bugger! With him gone, Barbossa would make the motion to free Calypso and it would be just like him to do so regardless of any King's commands. Too late now, he thought, bowing and trade places with Will. Maybe it was just him, but he thought he and Will took a little too much pleasure in sizing the other up. They exchanged one last look of understanding.

"Do ye fear death?" Davy Jones leaned into him, almost singing the words in a brogue that could chill over this desolate hot spot.

"Ye have no idea."

"Advise your brethren," Beckett said, taking a step towards Will, Elizabeth, and Barbossa. "You can fight and all of you will die, or you can not fight, in which case only most of you will die."

Elizabeth met his stare, her eyes burning into Beckett's, perhaps willing him to burst into flames on the spot. Jack knew that look. She could run him through with her cutlass in half a second and not change one muscle on her face. Her chest heaved, mastering the rage boiling inside her at the sight of Beckett, so smug and collected in the heat, with so many crimes on his head, one standing out to her in particular.

"You murdered my father."

"He chose his own fate."

"And you have chosen yours. We will fight and you will die." With that, she turned and marched back to the longboat, Barbossa and Will quickening their pace to keep up with her.

"So be it," Beckett murmured.

XXX

Not another jail cell, not on this ship, not at this moment! He could feel himself coming apart as he paced in jagged lines, not bothering to concentrate on his steps. The detaching feeling that had been with him since he had left the…no. No, it was behind him, never to be mentioned again. But then why did he feel like he was in three places at once? Must get out. Must get out. How had he gotten out before? Ha ha ha, to be escorted to your hanging. Turns out, that did actually happen. All right. Fine. The time before then. Ah yes. The eunuch, or whelp, as he had heard Barbossa refer to him, let him out with the promise of freedom…freedom being the _Pearl. _

"Think like the whelp. Think like the whelp. Think like the whelp." What was it he had done? It had looked like magic, cunning, sly Will. "Half barrel hinges." Half barrel hinges, he had said! Reaching for a large, splintery piece of wood, he pried the door, recalling every motion William had made then. It would be no different. At last, the door creaked open, and Jack felt the pieces of him return to him.

Running throughout the ship, he funneled out everything but what he wanted to see, the straight bold colors of the Navy's uniforms standing out from the dismal grays and greens of the _Dutchman. _Jones would pick his own minions to fight the battle, not insignificant, unchanged humans.

Ah, a smile crept up onto his face. Hadn't he seen these two before? He had outwitted them once and it was bloody certain he could so again…and again…and again until he tired of them.

"Hold it, or I'll shoot!" one of them said just as a cannonball burst through the cabin. He took it to mean the _Pearl _was doing well.

"Good one. I just came for me effects." His pistol felt like an old friend now, warming his heart a bit at the touch of it. "Admirable thought it may be, why are you here when you could be elsewhere?"

"Someone has to guard the chest," the other one with the beadier eyes said. Jack wasn't one to care for history being repeated, at least not this chapter, but he had to give a small chuckle. The same ploy working just as well. What was it they said about fooling me once or twice? Ah. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on you. Yes, you two biddies, shame!

What he considered the most fantastical bit of plundering in the history of piracy, Jack reached up with both hands and cupped the chest, disappearing with it before he could even decipher what it was the two had begun to discuss. Running through his mind of all the secluded places he could go to in a battle-busied ship, he let his legs sprint where they might. Cocking his head, he could see the green, stormy sky with countless raindrops splicing it. Securing the chest under his arm, he headed for the horizon.

"Lookie here, boys!" he heard. The cold rain splattering onto his hands forced a shiver. "A lost bird. A lost bird that never learned to fly."

Oh, to be transfigured into that little sparrow now. Well, rope would have to suffice for the moment.

"To my great regret. But never too late to learn, eh?" His stomach lurching, he propelled himself into the sky, white streaks highlighting the massive black clouds looming over the ships. Slashing at his eyelashes, he still failed to see where the _Pearl _was. Steadying himself on the mast, she was much closer than he realized, a rope swing away from her familiar deck.

"That chest! Hand it over!"

"I can set you free, mate!"

"My freedom was forfeit long ago." With that, Jones struck his sword at him, instinct alone the reason it had not plowed through Jack. Parrying on top of the mast, his eyelids half-closed to shield his eyes from the rain, this couldn't last long. He had no cursed coin to use for a safety net this time.

The two swords clashed louder than the thunder. Fumbling his way through, Jack held his breath, one hand still holding the chest.

"You can do nothing without the key!" Jones taunted.

"I already have the key!"

"No, you don't." His tentacle spindled upward, revealing the key dangling from it.

"Oh, that key!" Chopping at the array of tentacles, he sent the one holding the key to the slippery deck below them. Before he could pinpoint where it landed, his other hand suddenly felt as if it were carrying a lighter load. The majority of his sword lay in Jones' claw, leaving Jack with only a jagged dagger-sized weapon. He thanked whoever it was up there that liked him for the ship lurching at that moment, causing the mast to jerk beneath his feet. As he fell, he caught the chest, the heart still beating inside it, oblivious to the change it was about to endure.

At the other end of the chest, Jones gave the chest a heave, sending Jack upwards to one of the beasts swinging on a rope. Giving the _Pearl _a second's inspection from above, he felt the slimy creature's hand.

"Oy! My pistol!" Butting it on the creature's head, he now had the rope to himself, swinging wildly to and fro, finally catching sight of Jones. Don't miss, he told his pistol, closing one eye and taking aim.

The blasted rain blocked his vision, the sharp cry of Jones reacting to the chest plummeting to the deck was the only indication he met his mark. Don't hang here gloating. Get down to the deck!

Through the rain, he finally saw William…and Bill. About to smile that finally someone cared to join him, the thought flew out of him at the sight of Bill, attacking his son like he was the plague, reefs of coral protruding from his back. Where is that bloody chest, he thought, unable to look any longer. It'll all be over soon, Bill. I bloody promise ye that.

Jones stood right in front of him, slashing away at the air inches from Jack's body. With nothing to fight back with, he ran past what would have been the wheel to summon the kraken, darting from side to side, knowing full well Jones could charge right through it, which he was doing. Bugger. He supposed they had spent too much time together. With an exhaustive heave, he spun the wheel, trapping Jones inside it, if only for a moment, and ran down the deck for the chest. Jones managed to squeeze in one last hit and sent Jack to the deck.

Slipping on the surface to lift himself up, he could hear the clatter of swords all around him. He had to be close. Where else could it be?

"Harridan!" he heard. "You'll see no mercy from me."

"That's why I brought this!" More clattering. He had to hurry now. You won't have to fight him for long, Lizzie. Give me one minute. It has to be down here. Passing William once more, he kept his eyes down at the deck, blocking out any cries of pain he heard, any shots fired, any waves crashing over the two crews.

There! Finally! About to laugh, he unlocked the chest, the scarlet, beating organ the only one not caring about the icy rain beating down on it. A broken sword is still a sword, he thought, wriggling the heart into his palm, his other hand gripping the jagged sword so that his knuckles trembled white. Turning around, he could see Elizabeth and Will's figures crouched down beneath the railing of the ship, Jones standing over them. The two exchanged a brief look of dread.

"Ah, tell me, William Turner, do you fear death?"

"Do you?" He barked it out, locking eyes with Davy Jones, captain of the _Flying Dutchman. _"Heady tonic, holding life and death in the palm of one's hand." Plead with me, Jones. Come towards me and leave those two alone. We'll settle this, and you know exactly how will be settled, too.

"You're a cruel man, Jack Sparrow!" He savored the agony of the cry, wallowing in its fear.

"Cruel is a matter of perspective."

"Is it now?"

Spinning back around, Jones drew back his arm and plunged his sword straight into William's chest, twisting the blade as it went.


	25. This Pirate's Life

**A/N: This, my dears, is the final chapter. I am so appreciative of your reviews. They kept me going. This has, by far, been the most challenging, the most entertaining, and the most rewarding story I have ever written, including my original works. It's sort of a sad day because I feel that I am saying goodbye to all of you, and to Jack. Being inside his head for so long was quite the experience, but I guess I still have the movies and all your works, which are wonderful. Thank you for your time and your comments, and I hope you've enjoyed _The Sparrow's Journey. - _Willofthewisp**

* * *

The sea turtles shuffled little hash marks into the surf on their way to the ocean. Propping up their front flippers, they wiggled over to the magic point where the sand and the sea merge and disappeared into it. Jack smiled, recalling the legend of the sea turtles coming to his rescue on that island, wondering how anyone could believe little babies like those could pull him. When they all waded into the water and let it carry them away, he read Teague's note for the sixteenth time. No man had handwriting like that, more like the scratches that formed ancient runes rather than the spidery penmanship of a man who purported to be a British gentleman.

_Pirate King needs you. Puerto Rico. _

He wished he could have sent Gibbs ahead to scout Fort San Felipe del Morro, not too far away, but he came alone, prepping to listen to whatever story Teague offered up, return his mother to him, and never see the tippler again. Folding his arms, he looked out onto the horizon, the sun beginning to sink out of view.

He walked along the beach down to the harbor. The ships lay still, their masts leaning over and whispering to each other every few moments when a breeze came. He'd know the _Golden Queen _if he saw it, bloody hell, he'd sailed it, but any other ship would be unrecognizable. All but one, he corrected himself, kicking the sand at the thought of the _Pearl_, still succumbing to Barbossa's hands on her helm, his boots walking up and down her deck. I'll find you, he'd promised her three years ago from inside a dinghy. I'll find you. The legends that preceded it often flooded his ears, some lone chap in a bar retelling the story of the ship that tackled the _Flying Dutchman _and ended the life of Lord Cutler Beckett all in one battle.

Believing anything Teague said required a certain amount of trust Jack simply did not possess, let alone anything Teague said about Elizabeth. He'd visited last year, to make sure she and her boy were, were…well, the time he had visited before that, Lizzie lay in bed, paler than he had ever seen her, dark circles under her eyes providing the only color. Being with child turned her thin neck into a gaunt one, but yet she greeted him with a smile and let him hold a pink little baby in his arms, little William. No, Billy, she had corrected him, insisting he wouldn't want to be called William. Last year, mother's intuition proved itself as the little pirate ran up to Jack and hugged his knees, introducing himself as Billy, claiming Jack's heart in an instant. Lizzie followed him in fine form, sunned and fierce as ever. Legends about her began circling and Jack especially enjoyed the one about Pirate King Elizabeth refusing to turn her ship around in battle, pointing her sword right at Captain Teague's throat and ordering him to stay on penalty of death.

So wrapped up in his memories, Jack did a double take when he spied the _Black Pearl _making her way into harbor, her maidenhead staring right at him, sending the bird in her hand over to him. She glided through the glittery waters, silhouettes of crewmen setting the anchor. They exited her one by one, tying her off and slapping each other's backs all the way down the pier and into town. He didn't know a one of them. He bit his lip at the thought of needing to thank Teague for the _Pearl_, if he chose to give her back to him.

Brushing his coat aside, his fingers found the butt of his pistol still in its holster. A few more nameless faces ran past him, but he waited for the face of the good captain. About to run up and take the offensive position, Jack hesitated.

Instead of Teague, Elizabeth stretched her legs out on the pier, hair loose under a black tri-corner hat. She waved over at him and made her way towards him.

"What are ye doing here?" he asked.

"What am I doing here? Is that any way to talk to the person who found your ship?"

Jack said nothing, reaching out and feeling the _Pearl_'s helm, petting her the way he had petted his dogs when he was little. It was really the _Pearl_, cleaned and patched and warm from the Caribbean sun.

"You, you didn't kill Barbossa for her, did ye?"

"No!" she laughed, amused at his reaction. "Hector's quite reasonable when one is in a position to make demands of him. But you see he did take great care of her. He promised me he did. And I inspected most of it myself." She led him back up to the deck, but he marched straight into his cabin. Sighing at the sight of his books, his charts, his rum all intact, he smiled back at her.

"And he left it just how I like it," he said, gesturing at the stack of papers spilling over the desk.

"Unfortunately."

"Where's Billy?"

"He's at Shipwreck Cove, staying with your father for the time being." Elizabeth shut the door of the cabin, but so casually Jack didn't notice. He kept circling around the cabin, running his hands over everything to prove it was real. He thought he couldn't love her anymore than he did three years ago when she read his mind and substituted him for Will, but bringing him his ship, his ship at last, made him wish he would forget she was married and throw her down on his bed.

"Thank you," he breathed, turning back to face her, raising his eyebrow at the closed door.

"Jack," she said, inching closer. "I've received some news. I thought you should know it."

He raised an eyebrow at her sudden timid manner. He swayed over to the desk and sat on top of it, motioning for her to take the chair. Picking up a bottle, he uncorked it and poured the contents into two glasses.

"None for me, thank you."

"Relax, love. No one's trying to get you drunk." He set the glass in front of her, about to sigh at her stubbornness, when she passed a folded piece of paper to him. For once, he couldn't read the expression on her face. He held his breath as he opened it and read silently.

_My dearest Elizabeth,_

_I hope these three years have been good to you, providing you the adventures you deserve. I hope even harder that Billy is well and doing all that you ask of him. He must be such a comfort to you. The pictures and scribbles he sends me always bring a smile to my face, and to my father's face._

_I will come straight to the point, Elizabeth. I have met someone. I won't fill your heart with any more sadness than it has already seen, so I will spare you the details of how I found her. But I found her clinging to a dark piece of driftwood, half alive. She was the sole survivor. She was young, and in many ways, she reminded me of you, the fight in her eyes. I couldn't bear to lead her to the afterlife so I offered her a position on my ship, and it was a gratifying decision. Surely now Mr. Gibbs would agree with all of us that a woman aboard a ship is not bad luck._

_That was not too long ago and I feel I must tell you the truth—which is that I love her. I will of course take advantage of my privilege to step on the land seven years from now, to see you and to see Billy, but I cannot bear to see you alone and sorrowful. _

_What my prayer has been every night since my first night on this ship is that you will have a happy life, a full one. No one deserves to be King of all the pirates more than you, and no one deserves as wonderful a son as you. I still hold you in my heart, Elizabeth, but I have moved on and if one day you feel the same way about someone else, don't hold back. Let him know and give him your heart in full. There is much in it._

Jack folded the letter and handed it back to her, maintaining an outward illusion of complete calm. It seemed obvious what she wanted, but he'd gotten his hopes up so many times, hoping for her, he refused to do the same thing now. She would tell him the purpose of all of this and he would have a good laugh at himself later for thinking it could be anything otherwise. "I trust then you won't be needing me to drop you off anywhere to see any supernatural ships then."

"If that's all you have to say to that, I'll take that drink." She picked up the glass, but it came nowhere near her lips.

Jack tried to think straight, knowing that she came here, confided in him, for one of two reasons, one of them being that this letter was recent and made her so despondent she desperately sought out someone to take second place and listen to how she wasted the best years of her life on as unworthy a man as the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. Too afraid to consider his options, if that was the reason, he started praying it was reason number two.

"Lizzie," he began, rolling his tongue inside his mouth. He wanted to ask if it upset her, but he knew it did no matter what she felt. He wanted to ask her what she wanted him to ask. "Lizzie, have you missed me?"

"Jack, I should be counting the days until Will steps on land, and instead, I've been counting the days in between your visits." She reached across and rested her hand on top of his, grasping his fingers as if the tips themselves were what caused her blood to flow through her body. "You know you were always more than a second place, don't you?"

She climbed up onto the desk and settled into his lap, straddling him so they faced each other. This wasn't true, he told himself. It's in your imagination, Lizzie curled up in your lap. She looked into his eyes, her lips trembling at the strain of formulating sentences. At last she gave up and pulled him to her, a stream of kisses following. "I love you, Jack," she said in between them. "Is it too late?"

Unable to speak, he opened his mouth and kissed her harder, almost falling backward off the desk. It wasn't true. It was a dream, kissing her in his own cabin.

"Stay with me," he murmured, lifting the two of them off the desk. His lips dropped to her throat, his fingers running up to her scalp and crinkling her hair, eliciting a deep moan from her. Her eyes were closed, but he could see joyous tears dripping out of them. "I'll go mad if you leave me again."

"Not to worry," Elizabeth said. Her hands released his back and clung to his belt. She tucked her fingers in and brushed his hip bone. Oh, how well she knew his mind and his heart and now his body. Groaning at the touch, he cupped a breast and sat on his bed, still kissing the woman on his lap. She let an excited giggle erupt when he unbuttoned the last of the buttons on her blouse and slid the garment off of her. The sound sent him over the edge and he pulled her down to him.

"That's it, love."

XXX

_Seven years later…_

Jack opened his eyes, wanting nothing more than to shut them and sink down into his mattress and pillow. But not today, he thought, reaching a blind arm across to the ledge for the only timepiece on the _Pearl_. Still pitch-black save for a candle or two over on the desk, he could take a guess at the time. So early, he said to himself when he squinted his eyes just enough to see the time. _Un altro giorno. _

Rolling over, he threw his arms around her waist and let a leg drape over hers. Burying his face into the back of her neck, he breathed her in, suddenly happy he was awake. There had been so many days when he doubted they'd last this long, that one of their tempers would finally drive away the other one, that a tropical storm would wash one of them away, that a distant pirate in some far-off land would be quicker, more skilled, and one would have to watch the other one…he held her tighter.

"It's like a corset," she sighed in a groggy voice and rolled over to kiss him. She stroked his jaw and almost toppled onto him. "What was the time?"

"Too early, if ye ask me."

"I'm surprised Billy hasn't jumped in here to wake us up."

"You don't hear that?" he asked. He hovered over her and knocked on the bulkhead. In the smaller adjoining cabin they'd built for Billy and Cora, a knock answered them. "He's been doing that, testing you, for over an hour. I'm just old enough to block it out."

She tumbled over him and threw on some clothes. He smiled at her kept promise to him to never wear anything to bed while she gathered her hair and pulled the sides up into a bun.

"What do you have planned for you and Cora today?"

"No idea." He spread out his arms and exhaled, knowing he would not be able to go back to sleep. He scolded the selfish part of him that felt like his Lizzie and his boy were leaving him, even for just a day. But it had been his idea, hadn't it, he remembered, to give them this day to have for themselves.

"It's not too late to come with us. Will certainly won't mind seeing you."

"If he's not bringing his lady, there is no way I'm going and watching you throw yourself at him," he teased, gripping her skirt when she walked by. She stood over him, giving him a loving smile. He pulled her down and touched her lips with his, his body begging her to throw off her frock and come back to bed.

"It's you who will probably throw himself at someone today," she played back, as always. "I have one day to let my son meet his father and as soon as the sun sets, I'll come back to find you in some whore's arms."

"And in her nether-regions. Don't sell Captain Jack Sparrow short." Another knock came from the other side of the bulkhead and Jack knocked back. "Tonight," he whispered to her.

"Tonight, what?" She whispered back, leaning into him.

"Elizabeth Catherine Sparrow, you know better than to press up against me unless you have any intention of following through."

"Tonight," she whispered again, kissing him one more time before she left.

XXX

After finally convincing Cora she wouldn't drown if she let her whole head slip under the water, Jack pulled her up into his arms and slipped under the water with her. She giggled, had her mum's laugh, and repositioned herself so he looked down at her back. Holding her waist, she kicked her legs and paddled her arms, her stroke growing more and more competent, and her father growing prouder and prouder.

It had been a long time for Elizabeth to have another baby. For such a long time, it was just the three of them, and now, a little four-year-old girl tugged on his hands, rambling on and on about how well she did. He grinned at her, climbing all over his back and chest until she was on his shoulders. Tonight, he would hear Billy talk nonstop about Will, and he had to admit, he looked forward to it. He'd sent the boy along with his own hat, finally beginning to see Lizzie's point that he looked like Will. For years, Jack only saw Lizzie in Billy's face, but now he could see William, that determined, sharp look William had always had. And then also tonight, he'd get his wife back, eager to tell him that it was such a relief she and Will still maintained such a strong friendship and that he hadn't aged a day. Then she'd tell him how, even if it was only a day, she missed Captain Jack Sparrow with an unrelenting longing and would entwine with him.

"Papa," Cora said, spitting out some seawater. "Billy taught me a song."

"What's that, love?" he teased her by pretending he didn't hear. "You got me so wet I can't hear properly."

"I said Billy taught me a song! He taught me your song. 'We burn up the city, we're really a fright…'" she trailed off.

"Oy! Did you forget the best part?"

"I want to hear you do it," she whispered shyly. Hard to believe this is the same girl what tossed his charts all over the place yesterday, pretending it wasn't her who drew all over them when he opened the door and caught her, well, drawing all over his charts and then tossing them as if that turned back time. Lord, how she looked like her mum.

"If you insist. 'Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!'" It was quite a life, a married pirate lord with the very King for his wife, both of them now with heirs to pass their Pieces of Eight to…it was a pirate's life for all of them.

The End


End file.
